When In Rome
by missmissa85
Summary: Two young people meet in a coffee house in Rome. They get along, but little do they know, they have more in common than they realize. Dawn/Connor
1. Don't Cry Over Spilt Gelato

Dawn was regretting her decision to get gelato and espresso while still holding all of her schoolbooks and her laptop. She didn't have her sister's coordination or poise, and, therefore, had to watch in horror as everything crashed to the floor. Before the laptop connected with the stone tiles, however, a hand reached out and caught it. This, of course, was in spite of the fact that gelato and espresso were splattered all over the shoes and pants of the hand's owner.

"Omigod! Omigod! I'm so sorry," she cried, kneeling to gather her things. "I mean, thank you, or gratzi, or oh God, I've been in Italy for two years and I can't remember any Italian!"

"Uh, you're welcome," the hand's owner said as he helped her pick up her books.

Dawn looked up to see a smirking, blue-eyed young man with longish sandy blonde hair. "You're an American?" she asked in surprise.

"For the most part," he answered, handing her the last of her books. "Was this raspberry gelato?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm really sorry—"

"And a double espresso?" he cut her off.

"Triple actually, but—"

"Okay, you go find a place to sit down and I'll get your gelato and coffee," he said, standing up.

"But—"

"Go on. I'll find you in a minute," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Okay," she said to herself more than anyone else as she stood to her feet and moved toward a booth near the back of the shop.

A couple of minutes later the young man appeared carefully balancing two bowls of gelato and two tall glasses of iced espresso. He smiled as he set all of the items down on the table and himself sat down across from her.

She shook her head and said, "It's just not fair you're that coordinated, and I nearly destroy everything I own."

"Oh, it's not that bad," he told her. "Is your house still standing?"

"No, actually, but that's totally not my fault," she replied, grinning into her coffee. "I'm Dawn, by the way."

"Connor," he said, taking a sip of his espresso.

"So, are you like an exchange student, or what?" she asked, placing a spoonful of raspberry gelato in her mouth.

"Yeah, I've been traveling across Europe for the last two years as part of this special program at Stanford," he explained. "I sort of get to do the whole bum around Europe thing, but get actual college credit in the process. I wanted to see the world, and it made everyone happy."

"Does 'everyone' mean your parents, or do you have a crazy, extended pseudo-family like I do? Dawn asked.

He chuckled lightly and said, "I do kind of have a crazy, extended pseudo-family, but I was actually just talking about my mom and dad, and my birth father. My birth mother died having me, though I'm told that's probably a good thing."

Dawn flinched at the sudden coldness in his voice. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she kindly said, "I understand complicated family history. I'm not adopted, but my parents divorced when I was ten and my mom died when I was fourteen and my sister raised me after that. And we're from Sunnydale and the whole place, you know, fell into a sinkhole, which is why I'm not responsible for my house's destruction because, you know, natural disaster."

"Natural disaster…_right_," Connor said, nodding incredulously.

"So...did you always want to see the world, or…?"

"Not really," he began softly, "not until I found my real dad during my freshman year at Stanford. He sort of ran into some...difficulties that summer and I helped him out for a while. And he was...really sick for some of the summer, so I had to help him and his partner rebuild my dad's old business. That was really fun because those guys are more like frenemies than business partners on their best day."

Dawn laughed lightly and said, "Sounds like some guys I knew once, but I don't understand how that made you want to travel the world. Were you just trying to get away from them?"

Connor chuckled. "No, but I spent a lot of time listening to my dad talk about traveling across Europe with my mother," he explained. "He told me that even though he didn't like who he was back then, he was grateful for the experience. It taught him about people and cultures and, in the end, made him a more rounded, whole person. I hate to admit it most of the time, but we're a lot alike, and I thought if it did him so much good, why couldn't it be a good thing for me?"

"Makes sense," she agreed. "After everything that happened at home, my sister and I traveled across Europe for a while until we settled here in Rome. I got into a good school which I needed after missing a year due to the whole Sunnydale-sinkhole-thing."

"So…I guess you're finishing school this year then?" he asked, motioning to her books. As she nodded, he said, "You gonna go to college?"

"Yeah, I want to go to Oxford," Dawn replied enthusiastically.

"Kind of stuffy, don't you think?"

"But it's perfect for what I want to do with my life."

"Which is what?"

"Um…" Dawn began, trying to come up with a normal-sounding version of a Watcher, "well, I want to be able to…teach and protect…others."

Connor's forehead furrowed at her vague explanation, but he smirked and said, "Maybe you should go to a military academy if you want to 'protect others' so much."

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"Actually, I _know_ I'm funny," he told her, sipping his coffee.

"So, what are you going to do after you graduate from Stanford?" she asked him.

"Graduate school, I guess," he answered, "or maybe the Peace Corps."

"They still have the Peace Corps?" Dawn asked rhetorically. "Where would you go if you joined the Peace Corps?"

"Asia, I think," Connor answered.

"And graduate school?"

"Trinity in Dublin," he replied quickly.

"Well, you've got that one figured out, don't you? I guess you really liked Ireland."

"My birth parents met in Ireland, in Galway," Connor said, smiling. "Even though their relationship was totally fucked-up-and I'm not exaggerating-I guess Ireland is just in my blood. I went there the first semester of the program and I almost didn't want to leave, but Paris was _very_ fun."

Dawn shook her head and said, "I wasn't impressed with Paris."

"It's more fun when you're nineteen and without adult supervision."

It was hours later, and the ice had completely melted into their coffee and their gelato was gone when Dawn suddenly realized she hadn't opened a single book since Connor sat down.

"Oh, gosh, it's getting dark," she said, piling her things into her bag. "I really have to get home."

"Let me walk you," Connor replied, standing up.

Dawn stared up at him and said, "And they say chivalry really is dead."

"Not a chance," he replied, grinning as he offered her his arm.

"Thanks," she said, suddenly shy as she looped her arm through his.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Dawn said, "I'm really sorry about your shoes."

"It's okay. They were free."

"Seriously?" Dawn asked, looking down at his feet. She'd been in Italy long enough to recognize the quality leather and hand stitching of Connor's shoes. They would probably cost a fortune at any decent shoe boutique in Rome.

"Yeah, my dad did this family a favor and now he gets free shoes whenever he wants. He sends me a pair every couple of months. I even have hand stitched leather flip-flops," he explained, sensing her confusion

Dawn bit her lip, unsure if she should ask the question that immediately popped into her head. "Uh…which dad are you talking about?"

"The real one, my birth father," he clarified. "If Dad does someone a favor he gets something normal; like 49ers tickets."

Dawn nodded silently as the sun continued to set. They reached her apartment building just as darkness settled over Rome. Extricating herself from his side and said, "I think I can handle it from here. Thanks for everything. I'm still really sorry about your shoes, even though they were free."

"It's okay," he assured her for what must have been the fourth time. "You know, I kind of kept you from studying today. I'm actually pretty good at math and I have a knack for languages, and I've been a tutor before, so I could actually help you…if you need any help that is."

She smiled and said, "I'd like that. How about tomorrow afternoon at 2? Same place."

"I'll have some gelato waiting for you."

"Do you not trust me?"

"Well, my shoes may be free, but I only have so many pairs," he teased.

She playfully glared at him and nodded before she ducked into the building.

* * *

Connor smiled to himself as he walked through the quickly dwindling population of the cobblestone streets. Hairs on his neck prickled and he turned into a dark and deserted alley. The grin on his face took on a more sinister edge.

"So I guess you _were_ following me," he said to the figures in the shadows he could sense rather than see.

"We have a message from the Senior Partners," a scarred vampire said in a gravelly voice as he stepped out to face Connor.

"Wow. That was like _so_ two years ago," he said in an exaggerated valley girl tone. "The Senior Partners really need to find something else to complain about."

The vampire lunged and Connor tucked and rolled, sending the vampire flying. While still on his knees, he pulled out the long knife he had hidden under his jacket and slashed the head off of a scaly demon before he was fully standing again. Kicking at another vampire, he simultaneously stabbed a demon through the abdomen, sending black blood oozing everywhere. He dusted two more vampires before he saw the first one running out of the alley. Grabbing the first piece of broken wood he saw, he ran after his attacker. He easily caught him and threw him roughly against the brick wall.

Holding his knife to the vampire's throat and his makeshift stake to the vampire's chest, Connor demanded, "Who are you working for? And don't say the Senior Partners. You're working for someone on _this_ plane of existence. Who is it?"

"His name is En'Shon."

"As in battle of?" Connor asked with a furrowed brow.

"Not Enchon, En'_Shon_," the vamp corrected irritably. "He's a sorcerer. I've never met him."

Connor nodded and then calmly slashed the vamp diagonally across the face. He then backed away and said, "Tell En'Shon the son of Angelus says, 'Hi.'"

He turned away from the crying vamp and sheathed his knife under his jacket. "I gotta start carrying stakes again," he muttered as he walked away.

* * *

"Hey, I was wondering where you were. I was about to go out on patrol."

"Sorry, I just got so caught up studying that I lost track of time," Dawn told her sister as she hurried toward her room.

"Oh, really?" Buffy asked. "So, what's his name?"

"Huh?" Dawn replied, staring up at her smirking sister as the older woman leaned in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest.

"What's the name of the guy you've spent the last, like, five hours with? The one who was with you at the door? We do have windows, you know?"

"Connor," Dawn admitted, slumping down on her bed.

"Connor, huh?" Buffy asked, joining her sister on her bed. "I'm guessing he's not Italian."

"He's an American," Dawn explained.

"I only saw the top of his head, so how old was he? Is he nice? Is he cute? He's not a vampire, is he?" Buffy asked in a flurry.

Dawn blinked and said, "Uh, he's twenty-one and a junior at Stanford. He's extremely nice because I dumped gelato all over his hand made shoes and not only did he save my laptop, but he got me another gelato. He's totally cute, and no, I saw him in direct sunlight and there was no bursting into flames, so not a vampire."

Buffy's gaze narrowed as she considered all of her sister's answers. "Twenty-one? Isn't he maybe a little old for you?"

"You're seriously asking _me_ that?" Dawn said angrily. "Most of your boyfriends are hundreds of years older than you!"

"Okay, okay, that was bad form," Buffy said placatingly. "Two years really isn't that big of a deal. So, when do I get to meet this guy?"

"Uh, never," Dawn replied, getting up from the bed and pulling off her shirt.

"Never? What do you mean never?"

"I mean you scare people, especially boy people," Dawn explained, tying her hair into a ponytail and grabbing her robe from a nearby chair.

"What do you mean I scare people?" Buffy asked, following her sister across the apartment toward the bathroom.

"Well, you don't really do it on purpose," Dawn said through the closed door. "You just try to be all protective and you wind up being all Slayer-like, and that can be frightening. You do the same thing in your own love life too. That's why all of your serious boyfriends have been vampires, soldiers, or otherwise immortal."

Buffy's face scrunched up in irritation. "Well, fine, all-knowing-one. I'm gonna patrol and then I'll bring back some dinner."

"Okay," Dawn called back over the sound of running water. She sincerely hoped her sister didn't take her frustration out on every demon in Rome.

* * *

Connor picked his mail up from the front desk of his building. It included a post card from his parents on their cruise to Jamaica and a letter addressed to him in delicate, yet precise handwriting. There was no return address, but there was no need for one. Connor only knew one person that still hand wrote letters.

Sitting down on the main steps, he pulled the letter open. It read:

_Connor_,

_We're all fine here. Gunn has gotten really good at fighting from his wheelchair. Illyria is more human than when you last saw her. Steph and Topher are doing really well. I think Steph still has a crush on you, but she's starting to get over it. Kate Lockley, an old friend of mine has also decided to join the company. She was a detective with the LAPD when I first came here, and, if I'm honest, I got her fired. She still has contacts in the department, though, and it's been nice to have her back as a friend and ally._

_There hasn't been much activity from the Senior Partners. I guess we dealt them a serious blow a couple of years ago. We might all be dust before they can fully regroup. I hope the same is true in every city with a Wolfram and Hart branch, including Rome. _

_Despite some bad memories of the city, Rome is still one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Darla always enjoyed the Sistine Chapel. I'm sorry I can't offer any advice about the food. You should also steer clear of the Immortal. He's an old enemy of mine and Spike's. You should keep an eye out for Spike. We haven't heard anything from him in six months, but he was headed for Rome, as my sources tell me. I know you can hold your own, but I hope you're avoiding any trouble with the demon community. They almost hold as much power in Rome as the Pope himself. Be safe, son._

_Angel_

Connor smiled to himself as he pulled out his cell phone and hit the second number on his speed dial and waited.

"Hello," Angel's voice answered.

"Hey, I just got your letter," Connor told him. "You know, they invented this great thing called email a while ago."

"Letter writing is a lost art, kid," Angel replied. "Something on your mind?"

"Yeah," Connor said uncertainly. "Who is En'Shon?"


	2. Under Protected

"Dude, you should probably wake up."

"Huh?" Connor said groggily.

"You're supposed to meet that girl in like half an hour."

"Oh, thanks," Connor replied groggily, opening his eyes to see his redheaded roommate packing his bags. "You headed home?"

"Finally. Who were you talking to last night? Sounded pretty intense."

"Oh, I kind of ran into some people my father used to know and he was about jump on the next boat from LA," Connor explained as he picked up a fairly clean shirt from the floor. "I finally talked him out of it."

"I guess your _dad_ is pretty intense, huh?"

"That's probably the understatement of the last couple of centuries," Connor replied, pulling on his shoes.

"Will I see you at Oxford in the fall?"

"Sure, Jake, I'll see you then," Connor said, shaking the other man's hand.

"Later, dude. Have fun with your new whatever she is."

Connor shook his head as the other young man left their tiny apartment. Jake had never been the most articulate person in the world. He gathered some books he thought might be useful and placed them into his worn messenger bag. Walking into the afternoon sunshine, he was grateful for its light and warmth. Light and warmth meant a lack of demons, vampires, and various other disturbing people.

When he reached the coffee shop, he ordered a raspberry gelato, two triple espressos, and settled back into the booth he shared with Dawn the previous day. He was nearly fifteen minutes late, but she was nowhere to be seen. Worry started to fill his brain as he watched her gelato melt.

* * *

"I'm not coming with you."

"Dawn, I have to go to this meeting. Every Slayer leader in the world is going to be there. I have to go."

"Then go. I'm not stopping you."

"Dawn!"

"Buffy, I have to take these exams," Dawn told her angrily as she stuff books into her backpack. "My entrance to Oxford hinges on my grades on these tests. I have to stay and at least take them."

"Oh, come on," Buffy said, her arms folded firmly across her chest. "This is about that guy."

"Connor has absolutely nothing to do with this," Dawn said, glaring at her sister. "You know how big a deal Oxford is to me."

"So you go somewhere else for a year. It's not really that big a deal."

"It is too!" Dawn shouted in reply. "It's certainly a bigger deal than your little Slayer confab."

"Hey, Willow called this meeting herself," Buffy argued. "She's seen something bad coming while she was exploring the astral plane, or whatever. We have to listen to her."

"Well, on this plane of existence, I have finals and I'm not going to miss them," Dawn answered before taking a deep breath and calmly saying, "Buffy, look, Maria lives downstairs and Lucy is three buildings away. That's two slayers living within a block of here, and we've made plenty of friends here. I'll be fine."

Buffy frowned and said, "You have to call me twice a day."

"Okay."

"And you can't go strange places after dark, or during the day for that matter."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"And I haven't met this Connor kid, so absolutely no having him over here to the apartment, and no going to his place either."

"Okay, I get it."

"Just be careful, okay, Dawnie?" Buffy said, drawing her sister into an almost unwilling hug. "I'll be back in two weeks, okay?"

"Okay, Buffy, I love you too," Dawn told her. "Now, I was supposed to meet Connor half an hour ago. See you in two weeks."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at the door her sister slammed on her way out. "Oh, sure," she muttered incredulously. "The guy has absolutely nothing to do with it."

* * *

"I am so sorry I'm late," Dawn said breathily as she sat down across from Connor. "My sister had to go on a, uh, sudden business trip to England, and we kind of got into a fight over whether or not I was going with her. I finally convinced her I'd be fine on my own for a couple of weeks."

Connor smiled and said, "Good, but your gelato is kind of melted."

"Oh, I probably didn't need it anyway," she replied jovially. "Now, I know you said you had a knack for languages, but I've been taking Chinese, and I know not a lot of people actually know Chinese, so—"

"Mandarin or Cantonese?" he interrupted.

"Uh, Mandarin."

"Good, because my Cantonese totally sucks," he told her. "Show me what you got."

After practicing her Mandarin for two hours, Dawn's stomach started grumbling.

"Man, I should have had a bigger lunch," she complained.

"There's a great pizza place not far from here," Connor told her. "Or, if the last two hours have inspired you, I know where to get great Chinese in the city."

"I think I'd rather have the pizza," she replied. "My sister brought home Chinese last night."

"Then let's go," he said, standing up.

They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence as they journeyed down the sunny street. People passed and nodded and a few even greeted Connor by name. After the third person greeted Connor in such a familiar fashion, Dawn cocked an eyebrow up at him.

"Okay, that's just unfair," she said.

"What?"

"I've been here for nearly two and a half years, and you've been here for like six months and people greet you on the street like they see you everyday."

"Some of them do see me every day," Connor replied, chuckling. "And, unlike you, I'm not over-protected."

"Excuse me?" Dawn asked, stopping in her tracks. "I am _not_ over-protected."

"Oh, really?" he replied incredulously, turning to face her. "If you're not overly protected, why did your sister want you to come to England with her even though you have exams coming up?"

"My sister is—was my legal guardian."

"She's not your legal guardian anymore, Dawn. That's you. I'm pretty sure you can take care of yourself."

"You know what?" Dawn began. "You're right, I can fend for myself, but you don't even know me or my sister. You have absolutely no right to judge us, or our lives. I can get my own dinner. Thank you."

Connor stared, open-mouthed as Dawn spun on her heel and marched away.

* * *

Dawn was still fuming when the sun started setting. She liked Connor, but hated his judgmental attitude, regardless of how correct he might have been. Buffy had always been protective out of necessity. The world really wasn't any safer than it had ever been. There would always be evil, and they had only created more good to combat it. That fact hadn't comforted Buffy or changed her outlook. She was still the Slayer, the protector, and the guardian. That wasn't going to change. It was nothing short of a miracle Dawn got her to leave Rome at all.

As she mulled all of these things over, she gradually became aware that in her attempt to storm off in a huff, she stormed into an unfamiliar part of the city, and _that_ was explicitly breaking Buffy's second commandment. She turned to try and gain her bearings and somehow wound up in an alley.

"Oh, perfect," she muttered.

"You are perfect," a voice said from the shadows.

Dawn didn't even want to turn around to meet the owner of that voice. She had a stake in her backpack, but she didn't have a Slayer's speed and she knew there was next to no chance she could get to it before the vamp was on her.

"You really don't want to mess with me," she bluffed.

"Oh, I really think I do."

Dawn swung her bag in the direction of the voice and knocked the vampire— complete with freaky face—off his balance. She ran toward the populated street, but a preternaturally strong hand grabbed her shoulder and threw her clear back against a stone wall.

"I hate food fights," the vamp told her gruffly.

"That's a good one," Dawn muttered, consciousness failing her.

"Hey!" a new voice yelled.

Dawn vaguely heard a short scuffle before she heard the telltale sound of a vampire being dusted. She sighed in relief. Her sister would be so pissed if she died after just one night.

* * *

Connor ate the last of his pizza and threw the paper in the nearest trash bin as his cell phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his back pocket and smiled at the ID on the screen.

"Hey, Dad, what's up?"

"Actually, sweetie, it's your mom. My phone kind of went over the side of the ship."

"How many margaritas were involved?"

"Oh, yes, I'm going to tell my own baby boy how many margaritas I had when I lost my phone."

"So they _were_ margaritas then?" he joked.

"I didn't call you to talk about me. Are you still liking Rome? You're not spending all your time in the Chinatowns like you did in Paris and Madrid, are you?"

"Hey, my chi was in amazing shape after all the knowledge I gained in those Chinatowns."

"Your chi," his mother scoffed. "Do you really believe in that mumbo-jumbo, little man?"

"Mom, I'm taller than you, and I believe in a lot of stuff you would probably consider mumbo-jumbo."

"I knew we shouldn't have let you take this crazy world traveling tour."

"As I recall," Connor began, "I just _told_ you I was going and you guys decided to go with it rather than make a thing out of it."

"Well, it wasn't as though we could forbid you. You were nearly twenty."

Connor's face brightened though his mother couldn't see him. "So, you agree a person is capable of taking care of themselves when they're, like, nineteen."

"Yes, and most of western culture agrees," his mother said uncertainly.

"I'm so glad _someone_ agrees with me," Connor said as his eyes shifted to a noise in a nearby alley. He saw Dawn whip her bag at a vampire before making a break for it. "Uh, Mom, going into a tunnel. Talk to you later. Bye."

Connor dashed across the street, receiving several angry honks from numerous Roman cabbies. He wrapped his fingers around one of the stakes in his messenger bag and yelled, "Hey!" at the vampire, effectively stopping his advance toward Dawn. "My mother always taught me it's not polite to play with your food."

The vamp threw a punch Connor caught before he twisted the vamp's arm around behind his back. "You weren't expecting that, were you?" Connor asked rhetorically before he drove his stake through the vamp's heart and his arms were covered in dust.

Dawn groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Connor shoved his stake into his bag, cognizant of the fact that carrying a sharpened stick might be considered weird. He knelt at her side and said, "Hey, are you okay?"

She looked up, blinking at what she thought she saw through her blurry vision. "Connor?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?" he asked, gently helping her to her feet.

"I-I think so," she replied, wobbling in her unsteady stance. "What happened to the…"

"Mugger," Connor supplied.

"Yeah, sure, we'll go with that," Dawn muttered.

"He ran off," Connor explained quickly.

"Oh, okay," she said, eyeing him quizzically. "Were you following me?"

"No. I live just up the street. You, however, live in the complete opposite direction. Were you following me?" he joked.

"No!" Dawn exclaimed, flinching defensively and nearly losing her balance as a result. Connor caught her and held onto her waist.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked her.

"I…" She looked up into his glittering blue eyes and she knew for an absolute certainty that she was not okay. "I…"

"Dawn?"

"I'm fine," she said, managing to wriggle out of his grasp. "I guess I got lost."

"Let's get you out of here," he said. "I'll walk you home."

"My stuff…" she said, motioning vaguely at the books spread across the alley.

Connor automatically grabbed her bag from the ground and started placing her books inside. He paused when he got to the last one and said, "You have a book on witchcraft?"

Dawn's eyes widened to the size of saucers as she grabbed the bag from him and hastily zipped it up before she slung it over her shoulder. "I, uh, I…am, uh, studying the history of witchcraft for a cultural studies class," she blurted.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "Yeah, that wasn't convincing at all."

"It's not like I'm a witch or anything. I just—"

"It's okay if you are."

"Huh?" Dawn asked as it was her turn to have a quizzical brow.

"I'm just saying that it's not totally weird or anything if you are a witch," Connor replied, attempting to dig himself out of the hole he was about to fling himself into.

"You mean you wouldn't freak out if I were a witch, which I'm not, by the way?" Dawn asked. "That's not exactly a normal thing. Are you like a…wizard or something?"

"Uh, no," Connor answered, gently guiding Dawn out of the alley. "And I believe the term is warlock."

"Then how come you're comfortable with the idea of witchcraft?"

"How come you're freaking out that I'm not freaking out?"

"It's just…you seem…so normal."

He eyed her with a smirk and said, "I'll take that as a compliment."

She sighed and said, "I just wouldn't have expected you to take the witchcraft thing so well. Did you, like, know a wiccan, or something?"

"Um," Connor began, trying to formulate a plausible story, "I knew this kid in high school, Petrie Douglas. He dressed in black and wore eyeliner, and got picked on all the time. But, while I was good at the math part of chemistry, I sucked at the actual mixing shit together part, and he was my lab partner. He's the only reason I got an A in that class.

"One time, after one of my hockey games, some guys from the losing team sort of jumped me. Petrie did some sort of spell and knocked them down, so they split. I don't think he saved my life necessarily, but he definitely saved me from a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. Consequently, I don't really have a problem with witchcraft."

The story was almost true. Petrie Douglas was a Goth that had been Connor's lab partner his junior year—although that memory was implanted rather that genuine truth—and Connor had been saved by someone else practicing magic. He was fighting a horde of Gorath demons, however, and the practitioner was Topher, Angel's resident warlock.

Dawn nodded as she took in his story. "I guess that sort of makes sense," she concluded, "but I'm not actually a witch."

"Dawn, it's okay."

"I mean, I can cast a spell, which anyone can, but I'm not nearly powerful enough to—"

"Dawn," he interrupted again, "it's okay. You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I…thank you," she finally concluded. "And, apparently, you were right, by the way."

"Right about what?"

"About me being over protected," she replied. "I got lost in my own city, and you had to fight off that…guy."

"I didn't really fight him off," Connor assured her. "I just yelled and he ran off."

"Yeah, but _I_ didn't scare him off," she reminded him. "I'm just pathetic. I've gone soft."

"As opposed to when you were a hardcore badass?" Connor asked incredulously.

"Shut up," Dawn goaded, punching him in the arm playfully.

Her stomach growled loudly and Connor said, "You haven't had anything to eat since lunch, have you?"

"Uh, no."

"Okay, food first, then home."

* * *

"Was that him?" an olive skinned, raven haired young woman asked in heavily accented English as Dawn walked into the building.

"Was that who?" Dawn asked tiredly.

"The boy your sister told me about before she left."

"Yeah, Maria, that was him," Dawn conceded.

Maria grinned. "He is very…how do you say…hot?"

"Yes, he's hot," Dawn agreed.

Maria regarded her more closely and said, "Your head is bruised. He did not do that to you, did he?"

"Of course not," Dawn replied, pushing the other woman's hand away. "I tripped on a loose cobblestone and hit my head. I'm fine, and now I'm going to call my sister and go to bed. Goodnight, Maria."

"Goodnight, sweet girl."

* * *

Connor walked away from Dawn's building with a satisfied smile. He didn't often have the opportunity to save a damsel in distress. Usually he was saving himself from jams that he purposely got himself into.

Suddenly, three men formed a line in front of him. They wouldn't have seemed out of the ordinary if they hadn't all been dressed alike with identical haircuts.

"Uh, can I help you?"

"I believe it is us that can help you, Mr. Reilly," the one in the middle answered in English merely tinged in Italian.

"Ooo, you know my name," Connor taunted. "You're so scary. Now, get out of my way before I put you out of my way."

The one in the middle smiled mirthlessly. "We are simple humans, Mr. Reilly," he explained calmly. "If you kill us with the long knife hidden under your jacket or the wooden stake in your bag, it will be new precedent on your lengthy record of sin and death."

Connor flinched and his bravado melted away. "What do you want?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"We want you to come with us."

"Where?"

"Just to that limousine."

"Fine," Connor muttered before following them toward the long black vehicle. One of the suited men opened one of the doors and Connor slid into the surprisingly well-lit cabin. He found himself opposite a tall, thin man with blond hair, perfect skin that appeared to be around thirty-years-old.

"You have your father's forehead," the man said in perfectly accent-less English.

"Yeah, I've been told that," Connor replied. It was the first thing Spike said to him when he found out he was Angel's son and had taken great delight in reminding him about it at every turn.

"You also have your mother's eyes."

Connor's icy blues widened at that comment before they began to narrow in anger. Only one person had ever told him that, and Angel had been drunk off his ass at the time.

"Who the hell are you? And how do you know _anything_ about my parents?" he hissed at the man.

"Angelus probably calls me the Immortal, but you can call me Dave."

Connor cocked an eyebrow and said, "His name is Angel, and since I don't have a girlfriend for you to sleep with, I'm assuming you're not here to chain me up in a stable for a day and a half. So, what do you want?"

"I think you should leave Rome."

"Excuse me?"

"En'Shon is beyond your ken, boy," the Immortal warned. "You should leave Rome and simply avoid him and all the trouble he will bring on this city if you stay."

Connor leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "En'Shon is just a sorcerer. I'm the son of vampires. I'm the Destroyer."

"You're not _Shiva_, you arrogant twat."

"Just because you're immortal doesn't mean you have the right run this city and the people in it," Connor warned. "If you or your men come near me again, I will end them. Their humanity will not protect them."

"You're going to regret this, boy," the Immortal warned as Connor stepped out of the limo. The younger man put on a stone face and slammed the door before he stormed back toward his apartment.


	3. Cookies and Claws

A/N: So...apparently the stress of moving is a good catalyst for writing because here's another chapter for your enjoyment. There's a strong curse word within if that offends you, and one of my fave characters makes her first appearance in the this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews and alerts and thanks for reading.

_

* * *

He was running through a forest. Sticks and brambles cut into his arms and face. He tripped as he ran into a clearing. From his knees he looked up and saw a deeply tanned man with thick, curly black hair._

_"Now you will know our pain!"_

_His eyes and mind and heart exploded in a fiery rage. He felt the pain of a thousand deaths and thousands more mothers, fathers, and children. He felt every death, and each one chipped away at his being. He screamed in utter agony._

* * *

Connor awoke screaming until the bile churned in his stomach and he expelled his last two or three meals in the toilet. He rested his head against the cool porcelain as involuntary sobs wracked his body. He shed tears for sins he'd never committed, though the ones he had committed were nearly as bad.

Stumbling into the living/sleeping area of his apartment, he grabbed his phone and hit the second number on his speed dial. He sunk down to the floor with his back against a wall as he listened to the ringing.

"Connor?"

"Angel?"

"Conn, are you okay?" the older man asked, the concern obvious in his voice.

"I, uh, I had nightmare."

"Must've been one hell of a nightmare."

"Yeah," Connor agreed quietly.

After the silence grew and the younger man didn't continue, Angel said, "Connor, what happened in your nightmare?"

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and said, "Let me ask you something: what happened when you got your soul back? The first time, I mean. I was there the last time."

"Connor, why are you asking?"

"Just answer the question, Angel."

"I've told you before, Connor, it was gypsies. They cursed me after I fed on a beloved young girl in their tribe."

"No, I mean what, exactly, happened before you got your soul back."

"Connor—"

"Just tell me!"

"I was running through the woods, getting cut up by these branches, and I tripped and fell and when I looked up, their chief was looking down on me. He was this dark man with a mop of black curly hair. He told me I would know their pain," Angel said quietly.

"And then your eyes and heart and mind exploded with more pain and agony than you thought you could ever inflict," Connor finished.

"Yeah," Angel answered. "How did you—"

"That was my nightmare…exactly, complete with life-altering horror."

There was a long pause. "You threw up, didn't you?"

"And then I cried, and then I called you. I feel like that a lot, you know? Like somewhere inside of me I'm a bad person and I can never be good or even okay," Connor said, sobbing.

"Hey," Angel said gently, "you're gonna be okay, Connor. You're strong enough to get through this."

"No, I'm not. The person that's strong enough isn't real. Some sorcerer created him."

"Connor," Angel said quietly, "you remember when you found Wesley's journal after our first run-in with the Senior Partners' wrath? Do you remember what it said about the false memories Vail planted?"

Connor groaned and replied, "It said the memories weren't just put in place to cover up the real ones, but to endure them."

"You'll get through this, Connor. I know you will."

"Yeah, cause you're a shining example of someone who's totally dealt with their evil past."

"Okay, now I know you're feeling better. You're being sarcastic."

Connor chuckled in spite of himself. "Yeah, I guess I am feeling better."

"Conn, how often do you feel like this?" Angel asked uncertainly.

"I get the dreams and the nightmares every few weeks," Connor confessed. "I don't usually end up like this, but of course, the nightmares are usually mine and not yours. Why the hell did I have your nightmare anyway? You never told me that story, and I never heard it from anyone else."

"Look, I don't know, Connor. Your entire existence is a mystery to me, kid."

"Well, apparently, when a girl vampire and a boy vampire hate each other's guts…"

"Okay, now you're just being an ass."

Connor laughed as he rested his head against the wall. "Yeah, I am," he admitted.

"What were you thinking? You could have caved in my ribcage!" a female voice yelled from Angel's side of the conversation.

"Oh, stop being such a baby!" another female voice screamed back.

"Are Steph and your police woman friend getting into it?"

"Yeah, I think I gotta go put out a fire," Angel told him.

"Why don't you just have Illyria break up the fight?" Connor suggested.

"Oh, you're a laugh riot," Angel replied flatly. "Go back to sleep, Conn."

The phone clicked off and Connor smiled to himself. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered to the empty room.

* * *

"Hello, big-sister-who-is-shorter-than-me."

"That is like the world's worst nickname."

"I know. How about Sister Shorty?"

"How about Sister Goldenhair?"

"How about no."

"Did you need something, sweetie?"

"Well, um, how's the confab going?"

"It's mostly administrational hullabaloo," Buffy explained. "The imminent danger Willow foresaw seems to have simmered down, or something. She says the future is never written in stone. I don't know, but we're dealing with some salary issues, and it's just a big mess that we've kind of let stew for three years, so we're having to kind of clean up our own mess right now."

"Sounds fun. Who all is there?"

"Me, Will, Xander, Kennedy, Giles, Andrew, and a bunch of girls I don't even know," Buffy answered. "It's basically a huge slumber party."

"Great," Dawn said with feigned interest as she plopped down on the couch.

"Okay, Dawnie, speak," Buffy ordered gently.

"It's nothing," Dawn replied. "It's just…my mathematics exam is coming up and…it's a lot of stress."

"But what about your tutor-boyfriend-person-thing?"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"He better not be," Buffy replied seriously. "So, why _can't_ Connor help you?"

"Oh, well, we last met like three days ago, and his Mandarin is awesome, by the way, and it got awkward after he told me I was over protected and then I stormed off in a huff and got lost, but he came along and walked me home, but the over protected comment kind of made things awkward, and he hasn't called and I haven't called, and it's weird," Dawn explained in a single breath.

"Hmm."

"What?"

"That's one of the longest sentences I've ever heard."

"Buffy, come on. You're my sister. Be sisterly. Offer unwarranted and overly concerned advice."

"There's a request I never thought I'd hear."

"Buffy!"

"Okay, just let me ask you this: do you want to see Connor because you need help with calculus, or because you like him?"

Dawn groaned and stared up at the ceiling. "Both," she admitted.

"This is terrible!"

"What? Why?"

"I'm not there to kill him."

"Buffy!"

Dawn could hear her sister laughing on the other end of the line. "Just kidding," Buffy promised her. "Look, there's no law that says you can't call him. But my no after dark, no his place, no our place rules still apply, missy."

"I know, Buffy. Geez!"

"Okay, sweetie, Xander's motioning wildly. I gotta go. Oh, one more thing," Buffy said, "you haven't seen Faith around, have you?"

"Uh, Faith? You mean she's not with you?"

"No, she left a note with Robin saying she was going to Rome a few weeks ago and no one's seen or heard from her since," Buffy explained. "Thought you might have seen her."

"Buffy, I talk to you every day. Don't you think I would have mentioned it if I saw the 'Dark Slayer' wandering around town?"

"'Dark Slayer?' You've been spending way too much time with Andrew."

"No, I haven't seen Faith around," Dawn answered. "If I do, I'll tell her to give you call."

"Thank you, sweetie. Gotta go. Love you. Bye."

"Love you, too," Dawn said before the line suddenly disconnected.

She spent the next few minutes pacing back and forth across the living room trying to come up with something to say. Then she spent the few minutes after that rehearsing her speech. Then her fingers dialed the numbers without her permission.

"Dammit!"

"Hello?" Connor's voice asked uncertainly and short of breath.

"Hi, uh, Connor. It's me. I mean Dawn. Dawn Summers. Do you remember me?" she blurted nervously.

"Yeah, Dawn, I remember you," he laughed.

He was laughing at her. Dawn was fairly sure that was a bad thing. "Um, well, I called because I have my mathematics exam tomorrow, and my algebra is great, but my calculus isn't always amazing and I was just wondering if you were any good at calculus and if you were, would you mind helping me study for my exam tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Dawn raised a confused eyebrow. "Yes, you mind, or yes, you'll help me?"

He chuckled and said, "Yes, I'll help you."

"Oh! Okay, good!" Dawn replied brightly.

After the silence hung in the air a few more moments, Connor said, "You want to meet me. I'm actually in your neighborhood: the northeast corner of the Villa Bourghese."

"The northeast corner?" she questioned. "Isn't that where all the old people play bocce ball and do tai chi?"

"Yep."

"Why are you hanging out there?"

"Well, it's quiet," he answered. "You can meet me here whenever. I'll see you then."

He hung up and left Dawn considering whether his nonchalance was a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

After she spent a good thirty minutes deciding what to wear, Dawn gathered her books, some water, and the cookies she baked a couple of nights earlier, and set out across the neighborhood. A five-minute walk later, she found herself at the northeast corner of the villa. She could see the old men playing bocce ball and a large group of elderly women doing tai chi, but she didn't see Connor anywhere. Then she glimpsed a pale, thin arm from beside a tree. She walked around and a young, shirtless man practicing the same tai chi exercise she'd seen Buffy do for years. He was thin, but his sinewy muscles were bound tight beneath his skin. Dawn almost felt bad for staring, but she couldn't stop herself.

Suddenly, as though someone flipped a switch, the young man ceased the fluid motions of tai chi and began throwing punches and kicks that looked vaguely like kung fu to Dawn. The young man turned and she was shocked to see that the young man was Connor. He stopped short when he saw her.

"Oh, hey," he said, his face instantly turning red.

"Hi," Dawn replied in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice.

"Sorry," Connor said, picking his shirt up from the roots of the tree, and pulled it over his head. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Oh, I," Dawn began, attempting to come up with a reason other than outfit indecision, "I couldn't find a book I needed."

"Oh, okay," he said, seeming to accept that explanation. "You wanna sit down? This tree is surprisingly comfortable."

"Oh, sure," Dawn said, sitting down with her back against the tree. "Wow. This is surprisingly comfortable."

"Told ya," he replied, sitting down across from her with his feet folded beneath him. "So how advanced is this calculus you need help with?"

Dawn tried for an hour to work the problems in her book before her concentration broke entirely. "Okay, do you just snap sometimes and go into kung fu mode, or what?"

"Excuse me?" Connor asked, looking up suddenly from the page he was examining.

"Well, you were all cool and calm and doing your tai chi thing and then it was like you just snapped and you were like a killing machine…or Bruce Lee," Dawn said in a rush, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Let's go with Bruce Lee. It sounds less…terrible," Connor replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"I didn't mean to make you sound terrible. It just kind of came out that way," Dawn excused lamely. "It was just kind of freaky watching you turn on a dime like that."

Connor blushed a deep red as he eyes shifted around nervously. He finally stopped looking around and locked his eyes onto hers. "I don't snap anymore," he explained simply. "I was just taking the flow of the energy and transitioning it from an internal balance to external power. At least that's how I've always figured it works."

"I guess that makes sense," Dawn replied, shrugging. "That's probably why you see those shaolin guys meditating and whatnot."

"Yeah, tai chi helps you achieve the inner balance necessary to kick someone's ass."

Dawn laughed. "So, you do a lot of ass-kicking, do you?" she asked factiously.

"Uh, no, not really," he answered hastily. "It's just, you know, hypothetical ass-kicking."

"You probably should have stopped at 'not really,'" Dawn advised, laughing.

"Well, thanks for waving me off," he replied sarcastically. "Your solution is fine, by the way. You're gonna do fine tomorrow. I don't even think you really needed my help."

"That's nice to hear," she replied, folding the sheet of paper he handed her into her book. "I kinda just wanted to see you again, anyway."

"Really?" Connor asked, his eyebrows arched upward.

"Well, yeah, I mean, the last time we saw each other, it was kind of awkward, and I wanted you to know that I wasn't mad at you or anything because you said I was over protected even though I'm not over protected because I can totally look out for myself—"

"I'm sorry, so what was that thing with that dude in the alley the other night?" Connor asked, cutting her off.

"That was a fluke," Dawn said definitively. "I can completely defend myself."

"Really?"

"Yes, I can!"

"Uh-huh, sure," Connor replied incredulously.

"No, seriously, I _can_ defend myself," she said, standing up. "Come on. Attack me."

"Dawn, I'm not going to attack you."

"What? Are you chicken?"

"Are we like five, or something?"

"Just do it already!"

"Fine," Connor conceded, standing up and brushing himself off. "I hope you know this is ridiculous."

"Just come on," Dawn said, taking up a defensive stance and holding up her fists.

Connor took a couple of large strides backward, smiled ruefully, and shook his head before running toward her. Dawn crouched down at the last moment and swept his feet out from under him. He went flying over her head and landed on his back on top of the tree's gnarled roots.

"Mother fuck!" he yelled.

"I'm sorry," Dawn said, rushing toward him. "I told you you shouldn't underestimate me."

"You didn't say anything like that," he replied, gasping for breath.

"Are you okay?" she asked, leaning over and stretching her arm out to him.

Quicker than she could see, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on top of him. He held her back to his chest with a hand on her throat tight enough to hold her, but not tight enough to stop her from breathing.

"Shouldn't have let your guard down," he whispered in her ear. She thought she could hear him smiling.

"That is _so_ cheating!" she yelled, kicking him in the shin.

He loosened his hold on her and she started run away, but he grabbed her leg and she fell onto the soft grass. She rolled over just as he crawled on top of her and pinned her to the ground.

"Gotcha," he said, grinning.

Dawn realized she couldn't move her arms and hooked her foot behind his leg. She knocked him off his balance enough to roll them over so she was on top and he was on his back.

"Ha!" she said, her hands pressing firmly on his shoulders. "I win!"

"Fine, whatever you say," he said, laughing beneath her as he pushed her long, thick, dark hair away from her face.

Dawn felt the heat rising to her cheek as his hand remained there without purpose. She leaned down as he lifted his head and their lips met. It was tentative at first, but his hand tangled in her hair and her hands migrated from his shoulders to the back of his head. He ran his tongue across her lip and she immediately granted him access. Their tongues stroked across one another gently as fingernails dug into the back of Connor's neck.

"Fermo! Fermo!"

Dawn jumped off of Connor and they both stared wide-eyed at the uniformed police officer yelling at them in Italian. Dawn couldn't really understand what he was saying, but she guessed it roughly translated to 'making out on the ground in a public park is against the law.'

Connor said something in Italian that obviously placated the officer though Dawn couldn't understand it because her head was still in a fog. The police officer moved on and Dawn rushed to gather her books and stuff them in her bag. She felt him standing behind her and her breath caught in her throat.

"I, uh, I have to go," she said, refusing to look up at him. "It'll be dark in like an hour, and my sister—"

"Dawn, it's okay," he said, gently squeezing her arm. "It's not a big deal."

She glared up at him. "Not a big deal?" she practically screeched, slapping away his hand.

"That's not what I—"

"Whatever!" she yelled at him before taking the sack of cookies out of her bag and tossing them at him. "Goodbye!"

* * *

Connor trudged up the stairs of his building with a sack full of his meager groceries in one arm and his messenger bag slung over the other. The sun had only just set and he managed to avoid entanglements with any creatures of the night on his journey. He'd already had enough drama, and he left his long knife in his weapon's chest.

He unlocked his door and flipped on the light. He nearly dropped the sack when he saw the woman sitting in the living area's single chair smiling at him.

"Hey, Junior," she said in a friendly manner not befitting a trespasser.

"Faith," Connor replied flatly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You're supposed to say hello first, kid," she answered jovially. "Didn't your daddy teach you any manners?"

Connor cocked an eyebrow and replied, "That depends entirely on your definition of 'daddy.' What are you doing here, Faith? In Rome. In my apartment. In the dark."

"That question has a long and interesting answer, kiddo," she said, watching him as he set his groceries down on the simple table and started placing them in the fridge. "I don't really want to get into it right now. I just really needed some place to crash for a night or so."

"Okay, fine, but…are you running from something, or running _to_ something?"

She smiled at him and said, "You're smarter than you look, kid."

His forehead scrunched up in confusion. "I think that was a compliment, but it doesn't actually answer my question," he reminded her, leaning against the doorway between the living and kitchen areas.

"Both," she told him softly, standing up. "What kind of food did you get?"

Connor rolled his eyes as she walked past him to raid his fridge. He hadn't seen Faith in nearly two years, but he fought by her side for two weeks after Wolfram and Hart fell in L.A. She apparently took Angel's side in some sort of argument he'd had with Buffy. Buffy was already gone by the time Connor decided to check the hotel to see if his father survived the first wave. Most of the Slayers that accompanied her and Xander and Willow followed soon after. Faith stayed the longest and Connor considered her a good friend for it, but he found it hard to trust her as he remembered her from his original life, and she had absolutely no memory of him. And his memory also involved her kicking his ass.

He watched as she grabbed a bottle of water and a plate of sliced chicken from his refrigerator. "You want some bread?" he asked, moving toward the cabinets.

"That'd be great," she told him. Her eyebrows arched in amusement as she pushed the collar of his shirt down and said, "Where'd you get the scratch marks, tiger?"

"Back off," he hissed, slapping her hand away as he tossed her the bread.

"Ooo, somebody inherited Daddy's defensiveness when it comes to the ladies," she teased.

"Shut up."

Faith dug through his bag before he could stop her and she grinned as she produced the sack of cookies. "She made you cookies _and_ gave you claw marks? Who is this girl?" Faith asked, her grin stretching to new widths.

"Dawn. Her name is Dawn, okay?" Connor said, snatching the sack away from her. "And I don't think she made the cookies _for_ me necessarily. She kind of just tossed them at me before storming away because she misunderstood something I said."

"Her name is Dawn? I'm guessing she's not an Italian senorita, or whatever they're called here."

"She's an American," he grumbled as he placed the cookies in the cabinet.

Faith's forehead crinkled in thought as her mouth quirked into an almost smile. "Does this girl have a last name?"

"Summers, and why does that matter?"

Faith snorted and then started laughing uncontrollably while Connor looked on in confusion and mild horror. She clutched her stomach and, as soon as she caught her breath, she said, "It's just so funny."

"Obviously," Connor replied, glaring. "Why is it so funny?"

"It's just…you wouldn't expect a girl with such a bright, shiny name to scratch marks into the back of your neck," she said, still giggling.

"Yeah, comedy's really not your strong suit," Connor muttered as he walked toward the back of the apartment.

"Oh, Junior, you have _no_ idea," she said to the empty space the younger man had previously occupied.

* * *

Connor awoke to the sound of his door breaking down. He took a blow to his ribs before he could even raise the sword he kept next to his bed. He watched from the floor, gasping for air as three hulking figures hauled Faith from the room where she was sleeping. She screamed and fought, but they dosed her and she collapsed in their strong arms. Connor sucked in a deep, painful breath and swung his sword at the nearest hulking figure. He sliced it in half and it melted away. The second one cracked Connor in the ribs and then the face. He faded out of consciousness as he watched the two remaining figures carry Faith into the darkness.


	4. Advice on Breathing

A/N: So this chapter's a little shorter, and it's kind of filler, but it's the last chapter I'll write in the house in which I grew up (which is not nearly as important to you lovely readers as it is to me). In this chapter, I introduce my vision of the re-formed A-Team including former detective Lockley, a rogue, though not evil Slayer, and her twin brother/warlock. Enjoy and thanks for reading!

* * *

Connor's eyes shot open. He took a deep breath and was met with an immediate sharp pain in his side. He coughed and spit up the blood in his mouth while his side burned in agony. He was lying on his floor in a puddle of unidentifiable green goo. He tried to push himself up only to have his hand slip and he fell face first onto the wood floor. He cried out as the pain seared through his bones and flesh. Tears flowed from his eyes as he rolled over onto his back. He attempted to breathe as he groped blindly for his phone. It fell off the table and he had to strain to reach it a couple of feet away. He sighed in deep relief when it was in his hand only to be met with more pain in his side. He hit the second number on his speed dial and waited.

"Hello?"

"Dad," he replied shakily.

"Connor, what the hell is going on?" Angel asked, his voice suddenly tight in concern.

"They took her," Connor said, gasping for air as he attempted to pull himself up on his bed frame.

"Who did they take, Connor? What happened to you? Are your ribs broken? You sound like you're having trouble breathing," Angel said in rapid-fire succession.

"Aahhh," Connor grunted as he pulled himself up onto his mattress.

"Connor!"

"Stop yelling. My head hurts enough as it is," Connor told him, finding it easier to breathe from on top of his bed.

"You better start telling me what's going on, kid," Angel told him in a tone that was a strange cross between concern and anger.

"My ribs aren't broken," he said, looking down at the massive black bruise on his bare torso. "I just can't breathe very well."

"Then who took who?" Angel asked as Connor heard a car horn honk loudly in LA.

"I don't know, but they-they took Faith," Connor answered, his breathing finally starting to ease.

"Faith?"

"Yeah, she showed up last night and she needed a place to crash," Connor explained. "They broke down the door in the middle of the night and got the jump on me. They dosed her and got away. I couldn't stop them. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Conn," Angel told him definitively. "Did you get a look at the guys who took her?"

"It was dark. All I can tell is they were big. Six-and-a-half feet tall, or taller. I got one of them, though. He turned into the puddle of green slime I woke up in this morning," Connor replied.

"Okay, that gives us something to go on," Angel said more calmly. "Connor, I'm getting on a boat tonight, okay?"

"Angel, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," Angel cut him off. "Look, It's gonna take me a few days. Just stay put and heal up. We don't know if this was En'Shon, or something worse. I don't want you getting involved."

"I can take a care of myself—aahhh!" Connor said, moving too much to his left only to be reminded of his cracked ribs.

"Of course you can, kid," Angel said sarcastically. "It's gonna take me a few days to get there. Just stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Hey, trouble broke down my door," Connor replied, groaning.

A short pause followed before Angel said, "Are you going to tell your parents about this?"

"You're joking, right?"

"I guess I am. I'll see you in a few days."

Taking that as a sign the conversation was over, Connor snapped the phone shut and set it aside on the bed. Gritting his teeth with the effort, he pushed himself from the mattress and stood on his unsteady legs. He walked slowly toward the bathroom, careful to avoid the puddle of slime on his floor. He flipped on the light and looked in the mirror. He had a bruise on the right side of his jaw near his chin, and another on his left cheek near his eye. Blood stained his chin from a cut on the inside of his lower lip. His left side was blackened from the two blows he took to his ribs. The demon's slimy remains matted his hair and clung to his entire torso. He turned on the hot water in the shower and climbed in without even bothering to take off his sweat pants. He gasped at the pain the water cause before the heat started washing away the tension in his bones.

* * *

In LA…

Angel slammed the door of the hotel as he rushed inside. Gunn looked up at him in surprise from behind his desk. Illyria's gaze remained unfettered, but she tilted her head in the same manner as a confused puppy.

"You're back early," Gunn said cautiously as he wheeled around the main desk and into the lobby.

"Illyria, I need you to wake the others," Angel said instead of replying.

She nodded once and then moved to follow his instructions. Angel turned his attention back to the younger man in the wheelchair. An infection claimed his ability to walk after their first battle with the Senior Partners. He probably would have died if Buffy, Faith, and the rest of 'Slayers, Inc.' hadn't shown up. The injury had aged the young man, but it had by no means weakened him. He still regarded Angel with a hard-edged gaze.

"What's going on, man?"

"I need you to call Manny down at the docks and find out when the next boat is leaving for Italy."

"Italy?" Gunn asked, wheeling back around the desk toward the phone. "Something happen to your boy?"

"You could say that," Angel muttered before turning toward the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Kate glared at him as she pushed her long blonde hair over her robed shoulder. "Some of us like to sleep at night, Angel," she reminded him.

Twenty-year-old Steph trudged down next. Her chocolate hair was pulled into a ponytail exposing her high forehead and narrow face. Her wide mouth wore more of a pout than it did naturally.

"Aaahhh! Stop! Ow!"

Topher's feet dangled a few inches above the floor as Illyria carried him down the stairs, holding him from beneath his shoulders. Though Topher was Steph's twin, they were almost total opposites in appearance and attitude. Illyria dropped him on the landing and he squeaked his thanks as he sheepishly sat down next to his sister while Steph rolled her eyes.

Angel shook his head at their behavior as Gunn wheeled back around to join them. "The next boat leaves in an hour and there isn't another one for a week," he reported.

"Why are we talking about boats?" Kate asked, her eyes shifting quickly between the two men.

"I have to get to Italy."

"Did something happen to Connor?" Steph asked, suddenly awake.

"Was it that En'Shon guy?" Topher followed up.

"I don't know if it was En'Shon or not, and it didn't just happen to Connor," Angel began. "Faith was crashing at Connor's and some guys broke in. They kidnapped Faith and knocked Connor out."

"I'm guessing by 'guys' you mean demons because there's no any human got the jump on Connor or a Slayer, much less Connor _and_ a Slayer," Topher said.

"You're right," Angel told him. "They were demons, and they were big. Connor didn't see much, but he took out one of them and it turned into a puddle of slime."

"What color?"

"Uh, green," Angel answered, regarding Topher with a cocked eyebrow.

"Great," he muttered as he stood and moved toward the crowded bookshelves on the other side of the room. "It would have been too easy if the slime had been red, or yellow, or colorless. _That_ would have been helpful."

"I will assist the reedy boy," Illyria announced.

"I'm a grown man!" Topher yelled back.

Angel shook his head at the exchange and looked back at the two women still seated on the landing.

"I'll go get your stuff together," Steph promised, taking the steps two-by-two.

"I'll drive you to the docks," Kate said, standing up. "I can still get us out of a ticket if we get stopped."

Angel looked over at Gunn as Kate jogged up the stairs. "Let's get you some weapons," Gunn said, wheeling toward the wardrobe they converted into weapon's storage years earlier.

"Gunn, I want you to be in charge while I'm gone."

"You serious?" Gunn asked, handing Angel a broadsword.

"You're in a wheelchair. You're not dead. And you're the person here I trust the most."

"Take another one for the kid," Gunn said, handing him another broadsword in a leather sheath. "Since you're trusting me with everything, I gotta ask you something. Should we call Buffy, or Giles, or that annoying Andrew kid?"

"No, no, and definitely no," Angel answered with a furrowed brow. "Look, Buffy lives in Rome. She probably already knows, and doesn't give a damn."

Gunn raised his eyebrows in utter shock. "You saying Faith's relationship with Buffy is as complicated as your relationship with Buffy?"

"It's a toss-up," Angel admitted reluctantly. "Just don't call anybody until I figure out what's going on."

"You got it, Boss," Gunn promised as Angel slung the swords across his torso.

"Here's your bag," Steph said, handing Angel his old duffel before she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. "Be careful."

"Okay, Steph," he promised, awkwardly patting her back.

"And say hi to Connor for me," she added quickly before letting go.

"Let's go, Angel. We don't have much time," Kate told him, reappearing on the stairs in a t-shirt and jeans as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

Angel looked back at Gunn one last time. "Remember what I said," he advised.

Gunn nodded and watched as Angel and Kate rushed out the door into the darkness. Topher loudly cleared his throat from the bookshelves and asked, "Can I say it?"

"Go ahead," Steph replied, rolling her eyes and not looking back at him.

Topher took a deep breath and announced, "I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

"Oh, hey, Dawnie," Willow greeted brightly. "Are you trying to hide something from Buffy?"

Dawn froze from taking another bite of her sandwich. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you called _me_," Willow explained simply. "What's goin' on? If you want me to turn back time so you can retake your math exam, you're out of luck."

"No, that's not why I called," Dawn answered, pushing her sandwich aside and looking out over the Tiber from her seat on top of a short stone wall. "I'm actually fairly sure I aced my exam."

"I guess your college boy study buddy was helpful, huh?" Willow asked, a smile in her voice.

Dawn glared though she had no one at whom to glare. "How do you know about him?"

"Buffy's been complaining about it all week because you like him and she's never even seen him."

"Well, he is sort of what I wanted to talk to you about," Dawn began. "We sort of did more than study yesterday afternoon."

"How much more?" Willow asked, every trace of joviality gone from her voice.

Dawn took a deep breath and said, "You see, he made the comment about me being over protected the other day and we were talking and I told him I could take care of myself and I told him to run at me and I did that thing where you duck at the last minute and he flipped over on his back and landed on some tree roots, but he wasn't really hurt because he sort of grabbed me and we wound up wrestling around, for lack of a better term, and then he pushed my hair away from my face, and I'm not sure who started it, but we started kissing, and he was laying on the ground and I was on top of him and it started to get really hot and then this police officer yelled at us to stop, and then Connor had the nerve to tell me it was no big deal and I got totally mad at him, but now that I think about it, he might not have meant what I thought he meant. What do you think?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and Dawn's brow furrowed in worry. "Willow?"

"You vixen."

"Willow!"

"Well, what did you expect me to say when you tell me you were making out in a public park?"

"I never said we were in a public park."

"The tree roots and police officer kinda gave it away, sweetie."

"Well, what do you think he meant?" Dawn asked, sighing.

"Oh, Dawnie, I was spoiled," Willow confided. "The only guy I was ever really in a relationship with never really spoke idly. When Oz said anything, he knew exactly what he was saying and he meant every word. It's a rare quality for any person, but especially a guy. I mean, I love Xander, but that man has to rephrase every third thing he says."

Dawn quirked an eyebrow. "Was that an answer?"

"My advice to you is: talk to the man," Willow replied. "Ask _him_ what he meant, not me. If you want me to do a locator spell, _that_ I can do."

Dawn smiled though no one could see. "I guess you're right, and I think I'll just Google him," she said. "So, go back to your world saving yet surprisingly mundane endeavors."

"Okay, sweetie, and call your sister tonight, or there will be hell to pay."

"Alright. Alright. Talk to you later," Dawn said, tossing the remains of her sandwich in a trashcan as she strode purposefully away from the river.

* * *

Connor breathed deeply and felt only a slight, sharp pain in his left side. He wiped the fog from the mirror and found that the bruises were already fading from his face. The scratch marks on the back of his neck were long gone, which saddened him because he was quite proud of them. The cut on the inside of his lip was nearly gone. His blackened ribs had faded to purple and yellow and splotchy. He'd once been hit by a speeding van, and walked away without a scratch. Whatever attacked him earlier hit much harder than a speeding van. He gingerly wrapped a towel around his thin waist and made his way into the living area of his apartment. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw a young woman standing in the midst of the disaster area wearing a navy sweater and short, blue, plaid skirt, and knee socks.

"Uh, hi," he said uncertainly.

Dawn looked up at him and smiled. "Hey, Connor."


	5. Too Fast, Too Slow

A/N: So, apparently moving and dealing with crazy people who are also moving sucks the creative juices, however, this is a nice long chapter with many references including a teeny reference to Bones. Oh, if you like _Twilight_, prepare to be insulted b/c I am the proud owner of a "...Then Buffy Staked Edward. The End." t-shirt. There's also a little more explanation behind why Angel is being all touchy about going after Faith alone. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

* * *

Connor quirked a surprised eyebrow. "Interesting outfit," he muttered.

"I could say the same to you," she replied, keeping her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Yeah, well, this is my home, er…what's left of it," Connor replied, biting his lip as he regarded their messy surroundings.

"What exactly happened here?" Dawn asked, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"My roommate had like a party before he…left," Connor explained, silently hoping Dawn and his wheat toast former roommate never crossed paths. "I kinda got shoved down some stairs."

"What's that?" Dawn asked, pointing toward the puddle of goo in the middle of the floor.

"I have no idea." It was the first honest thing Connor told her since she walked in.

They both looked awkwardly at the floor in different directions. Connor ran a hand through his damp hair and said, "Uh, so…what are you doing here?"

"Well, I kind of knew what neighborhood you lived in and I Googled your approximate address, then I asked the guy at the desk," Dawn explained. "I'm now kind of surprised he's not totally pissed about the destruction of his property."

"He doesn't exactly care about much," Connor replied sheepishly. "_Why_ are you here?"

"I, um, I kind of wanted to ask you a question."

"Well, ask," he told her.

"You don't want to…I don't know…put some clothes on first?"

"Not particularly."

"Okay, then," Dawn said, taking a deep breath. "I was…just sort of wondering what, exactly, you meant when you said that it wasn't a big deal. Were you talking about the kiss itself because it felt like a big deal to _me_? Not that I haven't been kissed like that before, mind you, but I'm rambling now. It's a genetic thing. My sister's terrible about it. This one time—I'm still rambling. Sorry."

Connor squinted at her and said, "I kind of forgot the question in all of that. Would you mind repeating it?"

Dawn's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "You are such a jerk!" she yelled, lunging forward and smacking his bare chest. "I don't even know why I like you! You're terrible! And—dammit! Let go of me!"

"I want you to stop hitting me for a minute," he told her with a hint of a smile as he firmly held onto her wrists. "Do you remember me telling you that I'm, well, adopted?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah, I remember," Dawn replied, rolling her eyes.

"Well," Connor began, trying to think of an un-crazy way to explain his life, "when I found out who I really was, I sort of became a different person. I've kind of spent the last two years reconciling who I was with who I thought I was. I'm a different person than either of those two. And _I_ have never kissed anyone the way I kissed you yesterday afternoon."

As Connor spoke, his grasp on her wrists slackened and his fingers slowly laced through hers. Dawn shyly bit her lip as she looked into the mirrors of his eyes. "You really mean that?" she asked.

"I said it, didn't I?" he replied, inching his face closer to hers.

Their lips pressed together softly and tentatively at first. The intensity grew until their tongues were in one another's mouths and their bodies were flush against each other. They let go of the other's hands and wrapped their arms around the other's torso instead. They broke apart only when the need for oxygen became overwhelming.

Dawn blinked up at him and said, "I feel like we should _do_ something."

"Like what?" Connor asked cautiously, his forehead furrowing in confusion.

"Well…maybe we should, like, go on a date, or something," Dawn suggested, her arms still wrapped around his naked torso. "Isn't that what normal people do?"

"Are we normal people?"

"Uh, apparently not, but I occasionally like to make an effort," Dawn replied, smirking.

Connor returned her smirk and slackened his hold on her waist. "There's a Chinese film festival at La Sapienza tonight. We could go. That would be date-like, right?"

"I believe it would," Dawn agreed. "Would you pick me up in an hour…ish? I'm so not wearing this thing in public, or ever again."

Connor chuckled as he reluctantly released her. "I'll see you then," he smiled.

"Yeah, see you then," Dawn agreed nervously.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Dawn was rushing around the apartment wearing a skirt over her jeans with one pant leg rolled up as she tried to decide what to wear. The phone started ringing and she immediately blurted, "Hey, I'm kind of running late."

"Running late for what?" Buffy asked suspiciously on the other end of the line.

"Uh, well…"

"Don't even think about lying to me, Dawnie," Buffy warned.

"I'm going on a date with Connor, okay? Don't make a thing out of it."

"I'm your big sister. It's my duty to make a thing out of it," Buffy replied. "Besides, I'm sick of listening to people argue about money. I'd rather be annoyed by my sister dating a guy I don't approve of."

"Why wouldn't you approve of Connor?" Dawn asked, kicking off her jeans in favor of the skirt.

"Hello! I've never met the guy. He could be one of those demon people that's whatchamacallit…passing! He could be passing."

Dawn shook her head. "And you could be crazy," she replied flatly. "Connor is not a vampire or a demon or any other sort of big bad, okay?"

"But he's so much older than—oh wait, I can't tell you that."

"That's right," Dawn agreed. "Your boyfriends are generally hundreds of years older than you."

"I stopped myself," Buffy excused quickly. "Okay, so, ground rules: stay in well-lit, public places after dark. No clubs; too dark, too crowded, and too loud when you're Slayerless. And I know you're out of school now and everything, but I want you to be home by midnight. I've been having some bad belly rumblings, okay?"

"Okay, okay, Sister Slayer, just one more thing: hair up, or down?"

"Down with the little curlies," Buffy replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, that's perfect!" Dawn agreed, rushing to heat up the curling iron. "Thank you, Sis."

* * *

Connor had to take another shower to soothe his still-aching body. A part of him felt terribly guilty for being so happy. Faith was missing, but there was nothing he could, or _should_ do about it. Angel would kill him if he got himself killed, or merely maimed. He had to let Angel handle it, and he was honestly glad to do it.

That didn't mean he was being stupid. He still had his long knife tucked into a sheath harnessed at his back and he'd gone so far as to wear wrist stakes beneath his jacket. Fortunately he didn't look like an idiot for wearing a jacket in Rome in June, unlike certain people who wore leather trench coats in L.A. in August.

His enhanced senses were, however, tingling as he walked down a sunny cobblestone street. A quick glance behind him revealed five robed monks. Their cowls concealed every inch of skin. What really gave it away was the heavy boots. Monks wore sandals. Creatures trying not to burst into flame from exposure to the sun wore heavy boots.

He ducked into a shaded portico, and, as expected, the monks followed him.

"Oh, gee," Connor said as they formed a semi-circle around him, "I really hate to kill men of God. Fortunately, you guys are neither."

Connor staked the first vampire that ran at him and kicked another, causing his hood to fall back. He drove a stake into another vampire's chest and shoved the un-hooded one into a shaft of sunlight. He staked the fourth and grabbed the final one around the neck and aimed his other stake at the vampire's heart.

"Okay, it's a very flammable time of day for you," Connor told him. "Who sent you and your little pals to hunt me?"

"En'Shon," the vamp choked out, grabbing at Connor's tight grasp.

"Okay, and what does En'Shon want with Faith? Why did he take her?"

"En'Shon didn't take your Slayer friend," the vamp replied.

"Then how the hell do you know about it?" Connor asked, tightening his stranglehold on the vampire.

"Stop it! You're gonna take my head off!"

"That's the general idea. How did you know?"

"We were told to let the Gorvan'Chak do their work."

"The who?"

"Gorvan'Chak," the vamp repeated. "They're strong enough to take one of the original Slayers and _you_…apparently."

Connor took a moment to consider the new information before saying, "You trying to tell me En'Shon had nothing to do with it?"

"I don't know, man! I just work for the guy!" the vamp replied, struggling in vain against his captor.

"What does he pay you in?" Connor asked. "Young, nubile females?"

"Yeah, aren't they awesome?" the vamp said giddily.

"Terrific," Connor agreed as he staked the vamp, turning him into an attractive pile of dust. He then took his phone out of his back pocket and muttered, "I'm so glad I have free long distance."

* * *

In L.A…

"Okay, Gunn, you're gonna have to fill me in on a few things," Kate said, sitting across the desk from him.

Gunn immediately wheeled a few feet away and pulled a leather journal out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. He wheeled back and said, "The story of Connor and Angel according to Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. He hid it here before he…died. Trust me, it'll be easier for you to read that than try to listen to one of us explain it to you."

"It's that complicated, huh?"

"That's probably the understatement of the decade," Gunn told her, sighing.

"I kind of picked up on that when I was driving Angel to the docks," Kate replied, leaning back in her chair and opening up the journal. "He kept talking about how Connor called him 'Dad' on the phone. It apparently overjoyed and terrified him at the same time. I never thought I would see Angel quite like that. But that's not really what I wanted to ask you about. I was actually wondering how and why Faith is out of prison where I put her, and how come no one at the department can even find a record of her ever being in prison?"

"Oh, well, that's easier to explain," Gunn answered, chuckling. "Willow, this witch from back in Sunnydale, is also some sort of computer genius and she worked some mojo on the computer systems and erased Faith's criminal records."

"So, I'm guessing this Willow person works with Buffy."

"You know about Buffy?"

"Met her once," Kate replied quickly. "Why has Angel decided to go after Faith himself if she's back in the good graces of the Slayers?"

Gunn groaned loudly. "You had to go and ask that," he muttered. "Look, I was in the hospital and I got the story from Spike which makes it next to completely unreliable, but Buffy and Angel had some sort of throw down and Faith took Angel's side. Buffy left and Faith stayed until I got out of the hospital. I figured Faith and Buffy kissed and made up sometime in the last two years, but Angel disagrees."

"I personally think he hopped on a boat so quick because something beat the crap out of his kid," Topher said from behind his computer and massive pile of books. "I mean, you shouldn't really mess with people Angel just kind of _likes_, much less his _son_."

"Teen warlock has a point," Kate agreed.

"I'm twenty!" Topher screeched back.

"Be quiet!" Illyria ordered from behind the television across the room. "I have almost defeated Dr. Neo Cortex!"

Gunn and Kate chuckled as Illyria went back to staring unblinkingly at the television. "Now aren't you glad you came back to L.A?" Gunn asked.

"Absolutely," Kate replied sarcastically.

Gunn's cell phone started ringing and he grinned when he saw the I.D. "Speak of the devil," he murmured.

"Neo Cortex is calling?"

"Very funny," Gunn said before answering the call. "Hey, Connor. We thought you weren't long for this world seeing as how quickly Angel got on a boat this morning."

"You're hilarious, Gunn," Connor said on the speakerphone. "I've got a limp and those vamps I just fought off didn't really do anything for my ribcage, but I'll be okay. One of the vamps did tell me who attacked me and took Faith last night. What can you tell me about Gorvan'Chak?"

"Gorvan'Chak? Sounds like Klingon," Topher teased. "Are you sure you didn't just stake a guy that got sired at Comic-Con?"

Gunn's admonishing glare cut off Topher's series of short laughs. The younger man hastily entered the information into the computer and almost immediately brightened.

"That's so much easier with a name," Topher muttered. "The Gorvan'Chak are—"

"They are the children of Gorvan," Illyria said, suddenly standing over Kate and staring at the far wall. "They are blessed with his blood and his strength. They are of one mind, and live only to serve their master."

A long pause followed as the other three people in the room stared at her agape.

"She's doing that staring at nothing thing, isn't she?" Connor's voice asked from Gunn's phone.

"Yep," Gunn replied.

Kate took a deep breath and said, "Illyria, how do you—"

"She killed him," Topher said soberly, looking up from an old volume on his desk. "Illyria killed Gorvan 14,000 years ago. That's how she first came to power."

Illyria nodded curtly in affirmation to Topher's words. Topher gulped and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. "Uh, Connor, I'm gonna have to do some more research and get back to you," he said, hurrying around the bookcases in the office area.

Gunn shook his head at Topher's suddenly panicked behavior and focused back on the phone. "Connor, did these vamps say anything about the Gorvan whatevers working with En'Shon?"

"No, the vamps were working for En'Shon, but they seemed afraid of the Gorvan'Chak."

"I find it hard to believe they're completely unrelated."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

"Okay, we're gonna have to get back to you, Connor," Gunn told him. "Don't get hurt again, or Angel might kill you when he gets there."

"You know, I had that thought myself," Connor muttered in reply. "I'll talk to you guys later."

Gunn tossed the phone away after he disconnected the call. He wheeled around to face the panicky blond shuffling through the bookcases. "Topher, calm your ass down."

"No, no, calm is not an option right now," Topher replied, gesturing wildly. "Followers of one of the Old Ones are attacking Slayers and miraculous children of vampires, and we have next to nothing about them, despite the fact we have one doing a bad Blue Man Group impression in our living room, er, lobby."

Illyria cocked her head to the side and stared at the thin young man who immediately refocused his attention to the floor. Kate covered a grin with her hand while Gunn sighed deeply.

"L.A. Central Library," Gunn began. "Ask for Duncan. He's an old friend of Wes's and he's got the best occult collection on the west coast hidden in the basement. If he doesn't have it, it doesn't exist. Take Big Blue. She might be able to help you."

"You're trying to get me killed, aren't you?" Topher asked as he pulled on his jacket.

"Maybe," Gunn answered before turning his attention to Kate. "I'm gonna look through the old Wolfram and Hart files and try to find some connection between En'Shon and this Gorvan character. You try to get a hold of Angel and give him an update."

"Got it."

"Hey, everybody! I got Wong Foo's!" Steph announced happily, carrying a box loaded with Chinese carryout. Her joyous attitude dropped when she recognized the serious faces and busy hands. "What did I miss?"

* * *

Back in Rome…

Normal was the watchword Dawn was attempting to follow since Connor picked her up. She wasn't the sister of a Slayer, she didn't know the most powerful witch in the world, and she didn't want to go to Oxford to become a real Watcher. Since she no longer had the cover of school, talking subjects were going to have to be chosen more carefully. She just wanted to be a normal nineteen-year-old out with her slightly older college boyfriend, who interestingly seemed highly uncomfortable.

"So, um, read any good books lately?" Dawn asked nervously.

"Huh?" Connor asked, suddenly shaken out of his apparent trance. "Oh, the last book I read was Napoleon's Irish Legion by Gallaher."

"Oh," Dawn replied squeakily. "Um…why?"

"I'm a world history major," Connor answered, loosening up slightly as a grinned at her. "I don't think I've read a book for fun since my junior year of high school. What about you? Read any good books lately?"

"Same story really," Dawn said, loosening up herself. "School eats into the whole leisure reading thing. My friend, Kit, she's back in the states, she suggested I read this new book called _Twilight_. It's about this girl that falls in love with a vampire, and he's good and stuff, though whether he has a soul is debatable. And he sparkles in direct sunlight, which is weird."

"Vampires burst into flame in direct sunlight," Connor said authoritatively.

"I know, right? The sparkling thing is just insane."

"Totally."

"I mean vampire myths change over the years, but some things are sacred."

"Or un-sacred, technically."

"Exactly," Dawn agreed, giggling as they approached the cinema.

She had to remind herself not to attempt to pay. Normal girls weren't raised by a gaggle of strong-willed and independent women. They bought popcorn and a soda and took seats near the back of the theatre. When the silence grew to mildly uncomfortable proportions, Dawn took a deep breath and said, "So what's your interest in vampires?"

"Excuse me?" Connor said, seemingly startled.

"I mean, you just seem to know a lot about them, and their…attributes," Dawn said, her face scrunching up in confusion.

"Oh, um, I took a class in Eastern European folklore when I was in Germany last year," he explained. "Lots of vampires and werewolves and witches and other evilly things. It was a great class."

"Uh-huh, sure," Dawn said. It didn't really sound like a great class. It sounded like the abbreviated version of her life.

She was secretly overjoyed when the movie started. Connor was distracted and seemingly nervous, which was a change from his flippant and slightly bruised state earlier. Dawn silently wondered if she should have stuck with jeans instead of changing to the skirt.

The titles started scrolling by and a purple sky covered the screen. Connor's grasp on the arm of the chair tightened until his knuckles turned white. Dawn couldn't quite follow the plot, but the gratuitous violence ensued, rendering the plot nearly moot. Connor's breaths quickened until he suddenly shot out of his seat and nearly ran to the exit.

Dawn bit her lip and followed him more slowly. The night was certainly not turning out the way she imagined.

* * *

Connor took a deep breath as he massaged his temples to make the tension go away. The sky and the violence reminded him of his childhood: the real one, not the one Cyvus Vail created. He gripped the bricks in the wall and took in the deepest breath of the Roman twilight he could manage.

"Are you okay?"

Connor slowly turned to face Dawn. He gulped as he attempted to formulate a semi-sensible explanation for his behavior. Telling her the movie reminded him of the demon dimension he grew up in was probably less than a good idea.

"I, uh, I'll be fine," he told her, not quite meeting her eyes.

Dawn looked around nervously and said, "Was it the movie, or was it me?"

"God, no, of course it wasn't you," Connor told her, lightly brushing her arm with his hand. "The movie just kind of…bothered me."

"Really?" Dawn asked, fiddling with the hem of her jacket sleeve. "I find that hard to believe seeing as how you know all that Kung Foo and whatnot."

Connor soberly shook his head. "There's a big difference between knowing how to kick someone's ass, and watching it on a twenty-by-thirty screen," he told her. "It just…it reminded me of the less than savory things about my early childhood. My real father is a good guy, but he made…bad enemies—and I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear the adopted kid's sob story."

"Connor, it's okay," Dawn said gently as she nervously bit her lip. "You know how I told my parents split when I was ten and then my mother died when I was fourteen?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my sister became my legal guardian, but because of her job, she was never really _there_," Dawn explained. "I started stealing. Never anything terribly big. Lip gloss and knick-knacks and jewelry mostly. I stole a leather coat for my sister's birthday once. That was as bad as it got…well, almost, but that's a very long story and it wasn't actually my fault, but never mind. Look, the way I deal with it now is I don't go shopping alone. Maybe _you_ should take a better look at film descriptions before you go see movies, especially before you take someone with you."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Connor replied, rubbing his forehead as he chuckled slightly. "Hey, have you ever been to the Roman Ghetto?"

Dawn's forehead crinkled in confusion. "That doesn't really sound like the sort of place a young woman like myself should be frequenting."

"Not that kind of ghetto," Connor said, offering his arm.

Dawn grinned as she took his arm and said, "Well, let's find out exactly what kind of ghetto you _are_ talking about."


	6. Together

In L.A…

"Wake up, Twisted Sister. It's nearly noon. Brought you a pb 'n' j."

"Go away, Topher," Steph replied into her pillow.

"Never gonna happen," Topher assured her, setting the plate down on her nighstand, and ripping the covers away from her body.

"Gah! Topher!"

"Get up, Stephanie Mae. I mean it!" he said firmly before plopping down in a nearby chair.

"Jeez, Christopher James, did you wake up on the wrong side of a bed in hell this morning?" she asked, sitting up and grabbing her sandwich.

"I didn't sleep in a bed," he replied irritably, producing a ball of fire in his right hand. "I fell asleep on a pile of books in the library. I'm pretty sure Illyria carried me home, but did she put me in my bed? _Nooo!_ She put me on the medieval torture device known as the settee in the lobby!"

"Hey, I've been the only person patrolling since Angel left and, last night, _Kate_ invited herself along," Steph said in disgust before taking a large bite out of her sandwich.

"What's your damage with Kate anyway?" Topher asked as he produce two more small fireballs and began to juggle them.

"She thinks she should be in charge because she was a cop, but I'm a Slayer, and you nearly burned down the house doing that," Steph told him matter-of-factly.

"I was seven then, I'm twenty now, and why does being a Slayer make you better than Kate?" Topher asked without looking away from his juggling. "You wouldn't even be a Slayer if those Scooby-Doo people hadn't made all the potential girls into strong arms. And I'm not even sure that was a good idea."

"You and your balance of power," she scoffed between mouthfuls of sandwich. Her face shifted and she stared at her brother. "Topher, can I ask you a question?"

The blond man extinguished his fireballs in a puff of smoke and returned his sister's serious stare. "Sure, Steph. What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Faith is a Slayer, and she missing, and Angel seems to be handling it…alone."

Topher leaned forward and rested his bony elbows on his bony knees. "I didn't hear a question in any of that, Steph."

"Why didn't we call the Slayers when Connor told us Faith was taken? She's one of them. They deserve to know."

Topher laughed mirthlessly and stood up. "You already nailed it on the head, sister of mine. They're them. We're us. We have completely separate existences."

Steph rolled her eyes and protested, "But we're all on the same side."

"So are the Catholics and the Protestants!" Topher screeched, gesturing wildly, "but they blow each other up in Belfast. We do _not_ communicate with those people without Angel's express permission and he expressly forbidded it!"

"Forbade."

"What?"

"It's forbade, not forbidded."

"Whatever! We're not calling the Slayers about Faith."

"But _I'm_ a Slayer. I have a responsibility—"

"No," her brother cut her off firmly. "You stood in that lobby downstairs and told that Harris guy you wanted to stay with Angel. The only responsibility you have is to him, not them."

Steph stood up from the bed and glared at him. "You know I could kick your ass right out that window, don't you?"

"And I could kick your ass back to the eighteenth century when Angel was _evil_!" he screeched back.

"You can't create a fold in time by yourself!"

"Try me!"

"Hey! Children!"

The siblings snapped their heads toward the doorway where Kate stood with her arms folded across her chest. She glowered at them and said, "Hurry it up with your family issues. We need you both downstairs."

Topher looked back at his sister and said, "Listen to what I say, Little Sister."

"You're only eight minutes older than me!" Steph called after him down the hall.

* * *

In Rome…

Connor was fairly certain he would regret this idea. He'd known Lorne had a club in Rome since before he even started going to school in the city. He hadn't told Angel since Connor had it on good authority Lorne wanted nothing to do with Angel's business ever again. Lorne, however, was still in touch with all sorts of underworlds, and Connor was in need of information. He had fun with Dawn the previous night, especially after they stumbled into a Jewish-Italian wedding and wound up eating and dancing the horah until the wee hours of the morning.

He descended the steps into Caritas and the terrible sound of a Chirago demon screeching out Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody." Fortunately, he was already singing about Figaro, so the singing wouldn't last much longer, and there didn't seem to be a line of people waiting to sing. The club was basically empty except for the Chirago, Lorne, and the bar tender who was busy cleaning yak's blood out of a pitcher.

The Chirago finished and Lorne muttered what appeared to be a few kind words to him. Lorne then turned and noticed Connor on the barstool he had claimed.

"Well, hello, angel-face," Lorne greeted brightly, walking toward him.

Connor bit his lip to keep from smiling at one of Lorne's favorite nicknames for Angel.

"You here to sing? I've got mountains of time," Lorne told him with the smile that could light up a city block.

Connor shook his head. "Nah, I'm not much of a singer."

"Did you not just hear the Chirago that just left? You don't have to be a singer to sing for me, sweetcakes."

"I just need some information."

"I say go for it, kid."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, even without revealing your soul, I can see an amorous tint to your aura," Lorne explained, holding his glass out for a refill. "What's his or her name?"

"Dawn."

"Not clearing up the male/female issue, kiddo."

Connor chuckled and shook his head. "Female," he answered, "but that's not why I'm here. I need to find The Immortal."

"Ha! That's easy. Just go to the hottest human club in the city, find the most beautiful woman in the place, and he's probably jiggling right next to her," Lorne teased.

"No, I kind of need to have serious conversation with him," Connor replied. "The hottest club in Rome isn't going to work for me."

"Look," Lorne said, taking a sip of his sea breeze, "The Immortal isn't the ultimate evil, or anything, but he's not exactly the nicest guy on this plane of existence. And you're obviously not completely innocent, but you probably—"

"He slept with my mother," Connor blurted out.

Lorne's terribly expressive face instantly became graver. "Well, I guess that changes things," he said, writing on a napkin. "You obviously didn't find this out from me, little lamb."

"Got it," Connor said, snatching the piece of paper away and stuffing it into his pocket. "Thanks, Lorne."

"Hey, how-how did you know my name? I don't generally share it," Lorne said suspiciously.

"Lucky guess," Connor said uncomfortably before jogging back up the steps and out of the bar.

* * *

Connor rolled his eyes when he arrived at The Immortal's address in the Piazza Navonna. It was one of the most opulent buildings in one of the most opulent neighborhoods in Rome. The Immortal was no doubt eating brunch on the terrace…six floors up.

He walked up the stone steps toward the door, and a large man immediately moved toward him. Connor quickly and easily shoved the guy over the banister and kicked open the front door. He ducked the attack of the first goon he ran into and punched the second one in the gut and threw him into the first guy. He made a mad dash to the stairs and crouched down as another guard came toward him. He grabbed the guy's legs and flung him over his shoulder into the two other men chasing him. He made it the rest of the way up the steps before he had to punch someone else in the jaw and throw them over the railing to the floor below. Just before he got to the next set of stairs, he jumped up and grabbed the rafters so he could kick three men in the face to clear his path. He repeated the process nearly exactly as he ascended four more stories until he met one very massive man at the terrace door.

"Well…damn," Connor muttered.

The big man chuckled menacingly and lurched forward. Connor shifted his weight and kneed the man in the groin and, as the man cowered in pain, punched him in the face, knocking him out.

"Yeah, I know. That was cheating."

Connor opened the double doors and walked out onto the sunny terrace. Among the stunning view of the rooftops of Rome was The Immortal dressed in a silk robe and sitting at a small breakfast table. Next to him stood a small, bald man wearing glasses and linen suit who was shaking in utter terror.

Connor strutted right up to the table and flatly said, "Good morning, Dave."

The blond man smiled brightly and looked to the man at his side. "Klaus, go see which men require medical attention."

Klaus nodded rapidly and rushed past Connor back to the house. The Immortal pushed away his eggs Florentine and glanced at his cell phone. "You didn't kill anyone," he stated with a raised eyebrow.

"I didn't need to," Connor replied gravely.

"And what is it you need, Mr. Reilly?" The Immortal asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Where is Faith?"

"Well, there are many places to find faith: temples, churches—"

"Don't play me for a fool," Connor warned. "The Gorvan'Chak took her. Where did they take her and why?"

The much older blond man wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and stood up. "Do you know how I have survived for so long?"

"Because you're immortal?" Connor guessed with an arched eyebrow.

The other man chuckled mirthlessly as he slowly circled Connor and said, "I'm alive because I do not get involved in the destinies of others. I have no greater purpose, but you do."

Connor's jaw stiffened. "Pretty sure I've already fulfilled my _destiny_," he said, finishing the sentence with a hint of venom.

"Then you are as stupid as you look," The Immortal said with a laugh in his voice. "People like you always have a destiny. It might change from year-to-year, but people like you will always be deciding the fate of the world."

Connor glared up at him and said, "You're not going to help me, are you?"

"My assistance will come when it comes, Mr. Reilly."

"Fine," Connor muttered as he turned away.

"Oh, one more thing," The immortal said brightly, "the girl, Dawn…she is…unique."

Connor turned back around, his blood beginning to boil. "You stay the hell away from her."

The Immortal simply smiled. "I just hope you treat her better than the other women in your life."

Connor put all his weight into a single left hook that squarely on the other man's right cheek. The Immortal immediately crumpled to the stone floor of the terrace.

"You may be immortal, but you jaw is made of glass."

* * *

Dawn groaned as the phone's loud ring penetrated her deep sleep. She grabbed it and groggily said, "Hello?"

"You were out until three in the morning?"

"Buffy…"

"No, I said midnight," Buffy continued loudly. "Ten minutes after midnight is no big. Three _hours_ past midnight and I'm pissed!"

"Buffy please…"

"No, Dawn. I left you there because I thought I could trust you, and then you go and do this, and-and-and this is all that boy's fault. He's obviously a terrible influence on you!"

"Buffy, stop!" Dawn demanded, throwing off the covers and getting up out of her bed. "It was just an accident. The reception ran really long and we lost track of time, and, by the way, Connor was the one that realized how late it was. We jogged back to the building and he walked me right to the door."

"Reception? Reception for what?" Buffy asked after taking a moment to absorb Dawn's explanation.

"Well, there was this Jewish-Italian wedding in the Roman Ghetto—"

"He took you to the ghetto?" Buffy screeched.

"Not that kind of ghetto. It's where the Roman authorities sequestered the Jews for, like, six hundred years," Dawn told her as she made her way to the kitchen to make some coffee.

"Well, that sounds like a pleasant place. What was that boy thinking?"

"It's a very nice neighborhood since the decline of fascism," the younger sister replied. "And the family was great and there was so much food and dancing. We did the horah until our legs nearly fell off. It was a really great time, and it was safe, and it was maybe the best night of my life. So…deal."

"Jeez, you really like this guy," Buffy said with the weight of disappointment in her voice.

"You could be a little bit happy for me," Dawn suggested snidely.

"I'm extremely happy for you," Buffy replied. "I'm just sad for me. My little sister is all lovey-dovey over some guy and not only have I never met him, _I_ haven't felt like that in almost forever."

Dawn smiled as she scooped grounds into the filter and closed the coffee maker. "Don't worry, big sis. Eventually, you will figure it all out. I have complete confidence in you."

"Ahh, but my confidence in you is significantly shaken," Buffy told her. "Look, just do me a favor and put a moratorium on the Connor time. I think maybe you guys are rushing into this. I mean, you've only known each other a week and you're already together."

"Well, uh…"

"You _are_ together, aren't you?"

"I don't know, Buffy," Dawn admitted. "Not everyone has the need to label everything."

"Relationships need labels, Dawnie. They just do. Trust me, it will save you a lot of heartbreak."

"He's not Parker," Dawn said snidely, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"Okay, stop bringing my love life into this conversation."

"You're the only example I have," Dawn said, pouring liquid creamer into the bowl with the cereal. "Mom never really let me in on her relationship snafus, but I got to witness most of yours."

"You know what, little sister; you are just not as funny as you think you are."

"Actually, I'm hilarious—ugh! That's awful," Dawn exclaimed, gagging on her improvised breakfast.

"I totally agree. You're extremely awful, but what are you talking about?"

"I put creamer in the cereal because the milk has gone bad, and it was just…wrong."

"Well, if you're so grown up and trustworthy, go get us some milk, and forget about your non-labeled-relationship-guy-thing for a day."

"He has a name, you know," Dawn said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"But non-labeled-relationship-guy-thing is much more fun to say."

"Goodbye, Buffy."

"Okay, fine, but we are totally going to have a talk when I get home. Coppice?"

"Fine, whatever, goodbye…again."

"Love you."

Dawn couldn't help but smile. "I love you, too."

* * *

Dawn had simply gone out for milk, but there was a street market and she couldn't resist fresh herbs and genuine Roma tomatoes. She'd just purchased a loaf of ciabatta bread when she saw an angry figure out of the corner of her eye. She moved to get a better view and was surprised to find Connor pacing back and forth in a short alley. His face was twisted into a scowl and he released a sound similar to a growl as he punched the corner of a stone wall. Dawn flinched as some of the stone crumbled under his fist and flew to the ground. Connor himself reddened in embarrassment, but his knuckles weren't even bruised.

Dawn nervously bit her lip and stepped into the alley. "Gee, what did that wall ever do to you?" she asked, attempting to keep her tone light.

Connor's face became an even deeper crimson as he discovered the owner of the voice. "I, um, well," he began shakily, "Rome wasn't built in a day, but most of it was built a thousand years ago. It's apparently not as solid as it used to be."

She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow and said, "It looks pretty solid to me."

"Well, that's because I punched away the crumbling parts," Connor replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground.

Dawn shifted the bag of groceries in her arms and said, "So, was there a reason you were hitting that wall, or is defacing ancient masonry a hobby of yours?"

"I, um, I'm just kind of frustrated. There's some family stuff going on, and I just sort of took it out on the nearest stationary object."

"You could tell me about it, you know," Dawn said. "I mean, I would _like_ to be the person you could tell about it, but only if you would like that too…I think."

Connor's brow wrinkled in confusion and his mouth turned up into a smirk. "What, exactly, are you trying to say, Dawn?"

"Are we together, or are we just randomly making out and going places with no point to any of it?" she asked, refusing to look at him.

Connor bit his lip to conceal a smirk, although he was doing a very poor job. "So…your basic question was: are we together?"

"Yes, that was my basic question," she replied, exasperated.

"Well, I don't know," Connor said, taking a step closer to her. "Do _you_ think we're together?"

Dawn huffily set her bad of groceries down and rested her fists on her hips. "That is _so_ not an answer!" she complained.

"Dawn," he began, "one person can't just decide to be with another person. I mean, they could, but there are many names for that and none of them are good. If it were up to me; yeah, I'd want us to be together, but it's not up to just me."

Her eyes brightened and a smile graced her lips. "You really mean that?"

"Yeah," he replied. "So, what's _your_ answer?"

"Well, I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't want to be with you," Dawn said as she began to blush. "I don't know what it is about you, maybe it's because our eyes are the exact same color, or because you didn't get pissed when I ruined your five hundred dollar shoes, but I feel comfortable and safe with you, but not in the boring way."

"Well, thanks for telling me I'm not boring," he replied before leaning over and kissing her softly on the lips.

The kiss ended and Dawn smiled up at him. "And now I have to go," she said brightly before picking up her groceries.

"Excuse me?" he asked, his forehead crinkling in confusion.

"My sister suggested I stay away from you and absence makes the heart grow fonder, at least that's what Shakespeare suggested."

"Seriously?"

"C'mon. Just let me be mysterious."

"Fine," he relented, "but I am…going to pick you up tomorrow morning at 10."

"For what?"

"You'll just have to wait and find out," he replied, smiling slyly.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning," Dawn said, eyeing him hopefully as she walked out of the alley and into the street.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	7. Roman Holiday

A/N: So...this chapter took forever, mostly because I researched it meticulously b/c I have never been to Rome. Then...I shortened it because if I got too detailed, this chapter would have been 10,000 words long. Anyway, the next chapter should be up soon because it's mostly already written. Enjoy!

* * *

Dawn opened the door of her apartment after meticulously applying her makeup and choosing her outfit. Connor smiled tightly and held something behind his back.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey, have you ever seen _Roman Holiday_?" he asked in reply.

"Um, no," she answered, leaning against the door.

"Really? 1953 film? Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck?"

"No," she laughed.

"Great! This won't seem nearly as clichéd as it actually is," he said, revealing a pink motorcycle helmet he had hidden behind his back. "C'mon."

She took the helmet as he gently grasped her hand and lead her to the sidewalk. She giggled when she saw a shiny green Vespa. She snapped on the helmet he handed her and climbed on the scooter behind him. He only drove for a minute before he stopped at an ornate, white, and gold-gilded building on the edge of Dawn's neighborhood. She cocked her head as he took off his own helmet.

"We could have walked here," she told him, shaking out her hair as she placed the helmet on the seat of the scooter.

"Well, sure, but have you been here before?" he asked, effortlessly slipping his hand into hers.

"Um, no," she answered hesitantly.

"It's the Villa Borghese, which was originally the residence of Cardinal Scipione Borghese," he said as he led her through the green, manicured lawn. "It's how the neighborhood and the park got their name."

"I know, but you have to make reservations and pay for the tickets and I was raised with the idea that any plan made would undoubtedly go horribly wrong."

"Well, luckily for you, we don't need reservations or tickets. My dad knows a guy."

"Which dad?"

"The adoptive one," Connor replied. "He handles the off-shore accounts for one of the board members of the museum. My real dad has more enemies in Rome than people that owe him favors."

"What does your real dad do? Is he a hit man?" she asked as an intelligent-looking man led them upstairs. "And why is this tour starting on the fourth floor?"

"This is a top-to-bottom operation," he kidded. "And my father is a private investigator."

"Really? Like Magnum?"

Connor burst into a sudden laugh before silencing himself just as quickly. "Not really like Magnum. Besides, he's in L.A., not Hawaii."

"I'm impressed you know where Magnum lived."

"Yeah, well, I'm in college."

She shook her head as they entered the room with mural-covered walls. Dawn's eyes immediately lighted upon two side-by-side portraits on the far wall. She dropped Connor's hand to examine the paintings more closely.

"Bernini's self-portraits as a young and mature man," Dawn said. "He painted them only fifteen years apart, so the only real difference is in the eyes. There's a lot of Bernini in this room, actually, but that makes sense because Gianlorenzo Bernini is still one of Rome's favorite sons."

She looked back at Connor to find him staring at her with raised eyebrows. "I know stuff, too," she smirked.

"Apparently," he smirked back.

Dawn grinned as she took his hand and they traversed the nest three floors trying to outdo one another with their respective knowledge of Raphael, Bassano, and Rubens. She stood in awe of the domed ceiling of the ground floor when they arrived in the central room.

"You're missing Carraviagio," Connor teased.

"You know what I don't understand?" she asked, completely ignoring him. "How does a man who supposedly serves God afford this gorgeous house _and_ afford to be the patron of an artist like Carravagio?"

Connor smirked and said, "He was a cardinal, not a Franciscan monk. His family purchased his place in the world. It's not that way anymore, of course. It's more like a real job, which is why cardinals are so freaking old nowadays."

"And you know so much because…?"

"I know stuff too. What do you say we move on?"

"Okay," she relented easily.

* * *

Dawn stared at the mosaic on the wall of the Basillica de Santa Maria Maggiore. "This is why Rome is the Eternal City," she breathed. "Some of these mosaics have been here since the fifth century. That's practically forever."

"That's not why Rome is the Eternal City."

She turned to find him staring at her with hard, yet open eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"If it was just a matter of time, Athens would be the Eternal City. It's still standing as well," he explained, walking past her to stare at another mosaic. "Rome is the Eternal City because what happens here effects eternity."

Dawn moved to stand next to him and looked at the mosaic of Mary cradling her bleeding son. She eyed Connor curiously and said, "I didn't know you were so religious."

"I'm not," he assured her, smirking, "but my name is Connor Francis Reilly. I have to have some Catholic street cred."

"Are you sure your parents weren't just making sure you knew you were Irish?" she teased.

"My parents didn't give me my name," he told her. "My real father did. He just liked the name Connor. It's a nice, strong Irish name…like Jameson. And he's from Galway, so he actually is Irish."

She giggled slightly and said, "So was Francis his favorite saint?"

Connor's face immediately fell. "No, my father is kind of afraid of churches," he replied, glancing at the giant, gilded crucifix behind the altar. "Let's get out of here."

Dawn followed him out of the church and down the stone steps toward their parked scooter. "Connor, I'm sorry," she told him gravely once she'd caught up with him. "I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious, and—"

"It's okay," he told her, taking her wildly motioning hands into his. "It's just that my middle name has a couple of painful stories behind it, and…I can't really bring myself to talk about it."

"I understand," Dawn replied, kissing him on the cheek. "What's our next stop?"

Connor squared his shoulders and reclaimed his joviality. "I can't reveal all my secrets. C'mon."

As he steered through the crowded Roman streets, he remembered the night Angel told him about his middle name. The story revolved around Cordelia; an infinitely painful subject for both of them. The only reason Angel shared the story at all was an ungodly amount of Irish whisky which he consumed over yet another woman: Buffy. For his part, Connor decided to avoid contact with the Slayer or anyone like her for the remainder of his life.

There was an unexpected line at the Bocca della Verita and every guy there was pretending to lose a hand after telling a bold-faced lie.

"Why do they keep doing that?" Dawn asked.

"You'd understand if you'd seen _Roman Holiday_," he grumbled in reply.

Dawn watched as another young man pretended to lose his hand and his girlfriend giggled before they walked away hand-in-hand. She smirked and said, "Were you going to do that?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Well, maybe."

Dawn did a terrible job of hiding a laugh and said, "Why don't we just rent the movie sometime?"

"Deal," Connor said, pulling her out of the line. It was probably a safer idea anyway. If the mouth really did detect lying, Connor would be totally screwed.

They wove through the insane traffic until they were at the foot of the Spanish Steps. Dawn's eyes brightened when they stopped at the narrow door of Caffé Greco.

"Oh my God! I've always wanted to come here, but I just never got around to it," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Um, you're welcome," he laughed as she pulled him inside.

They ordered espresso and pastries and took a seat in a mint green room beneath a raised, glass ceiling.

"This place is _so_ full of history," she continued excitedly. "It opened in 1760 and it's been the intellectual home of writers, diplomats, and musicians ever since. There was some sort of massacre in the 1790s, but that's pretty much the only time they got close to shutting down."

He smiled to keep from cringing. He knew exactly who was responsible for that massacre, and since Dawn apparently adored the place, it was probably a bad idea to tell her his parents were the murderers of dozens of Greco patrons. And it would also sound completely insane.

"There's the portrait of Lord Byron," Dawn said, pointing to a painting on the opposite wall. "He is by far my favorite poet."

"So you like the Romantics?"

"Who?"

Connor smiled and said, "Byron was one of the Romantics along with Shelley, Longfellow, and Keats."

"Oh," Dawn replied, nodding slowly. "I guess I'll learn about that next year."

"Probably," he assured her. "As far as the Romantics go, I like Keats."

"Why?"

"Because he was just as talented as Byron or Shelley, but, unlike the two of them, he was actually a decent guy. I'd like to think I could be like that."

She smiled at him sweetly and said, "He's not your absolute favorite, though, is he?"

"I like Yeats," Connor confirmed, nodding.

"I have no idea who that is."

"It's spelled like Keats except with a Y."

"Oh. I've totally been saying his name wrong my whole life," Dawn replied sheepishly. "He wrote 'The Second Coming,' right?"

"Yeah, it's the poem he's most famous for, it's not what drew me to him," Connor continued, staring into his coffee. "I love _Easter, 1916_. It's a poem he wrote about the Easter Rising…which was the rebellion that sparked the beginning of the end of British rule in most of Ireland. There are these repeated lines in the poem: 'All changed, changed utterly: a terrible beauty is born.' It always kind of reminded me of myself."

Dawn's eyebrows knitted together to form an expression akin to worry. "You think you're something terrible?"

"Hm," Connor said, drawing invisible circles on the table. "I guess I shared too much."

"If your intention was to tell me absolutely nothing about your feelings; then, yeah, you shared too much," she replied hotly. "Connor, just because your father gave you away doesn't mean you're terrible, or unworthy. It just means your birth father was a selfish bastard."

Connor's eyes shot up and met hers with a certain fire in them. "Dawn, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Then _tell_ me."

He gripped his cup with both hands and then quickly let go before it shattered. He then forced himself to meet her eyes, and began, "People think that wanting to always be with someone is the best way to love, but I think the better expression of love is letting someone go for their own good. You see, my mother died so I could be born; born in an alley in the pouring rain. There were people with weapons trained on my father and he wrapped me in his coat because he didn't have a blanket. The only reason he got out of that particular mess was because he was cradling a newborn. But after a while, he knew he had to give having a son and being a father. And he did it because…living a life with him made—would have made me a raving lunatic. My father was _selfless_ enough to let me go so I could have a better life."

Dawn sheepishly bit her lip and stared at the floor. "Sounds like my sister's first serious boyfriend. They were in love, but he thought their relationship would ultimately be unhealthy for her, so they broke up and he left town."

"Yeah, that sounds like a solution my father would come up with," Connor replied, rolling his eyes slightly. "You know what's funny? I don't think I ever really appreciated the sacrifice he made until I said it just now. I mean, I hated him—really, really, _really_ hated him—for a long time. But he always forgave me, and all he ever wanted was for me to be safe and happy. Thinking about it now, I should probably buy him a 'world's greatest dad' mug."

Dawn chuckled lightly and all tension between them melted as she took his hand under the table. He smiled and gently squeezed her hand in return. They kept the conversation lighter as they wandered around the Via Condotti and the Spanish Steps and then had a late lunch at the market at the Campo de Fiori. As the sun touched the tallest Roman roofs, they arrived at the Sistine Chapel.

"Okay, I've actually been here before," she told him as they walked inside.

"Did you look as the ceiling?"

"Of course."

"We're not gonna look at the ceiling."

The chapel was fairly crowded, but most people were looking upward and the pair easily pushed past them. Connor stood behind her and gently tilted her head so that she was looking at the upper part of the wall rather than the famous ceiling.

"You see, everyone's so focused on Michelangelo, they miss out on Boticelli. Of the surviving frescoes, Boticelli painted the most."

"So you like Boticelli?" she asked dubiously.

Connor shook his head. "I'm not big on the visual arts, but when I was in Paris, my real father told me I should check out Boticelli's angels at the Louvre. Apparently, my birth mother really loved them. She had a thing about Angels," he muttered almost as an afterthought.

"Was she like super-religious, or something?"

"Hell, no!" he laughed a little more loudly than necessary.

An older woman glared at him and his cheeks immediately reddened. He sheepishly led Dawn toward the west wall. "Forgot we're still technically in a church," he whispered. "My real mother was…well, a slut. And that's the nicest way I can put it."

"Oh. I don't know what to say to that."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I didn't know her, and—like most of my father's relationships—it was complicated."

Dawn looked up at the west wall and a shadow fell across her face. "I hate the idea of a last judgment," she murmured. "There have been enough apocalypses."

Connor cocked an eyebrow. "You think there have already been multiple apocalypses?"

"Of course, and they've been averted by…one force, or another," she explained hesitantly, suddenly realizing she sounded like a crazy person.

"I'd agree with that," Connor replied.

"Really?" Dawn said, a little too surprised.

"Yeah," he said, nodding emphatically, "but that doesn't mean that a last judgment isn't coming, and that it's not important what side we come down on."

Dawn's forehead scrunched up in confusion. "Okay, that's depressing. Let's get out of here."

"Sure," Connor said, following her through the crowd.

When they arrived at the scooter, he handed her her helmet and said, "One more stop."

They headed out of town, and Dawn enjoyed the passing countryside. "Are we going to Ostia Antica?"

"How'd you know?"

"I figured it would appeal to the history major in you," she replied pertly.

He didn't reply, but she was sure she could see him grinning. The sun was touching the horizon when they arrived at the entrance to the ancient port town.

"You know what I think is most interesting about this place?" Dawn asked. "It used to be on the coast, but now it's three miles off, even though the ocean is actually expanding."

Connor chuckled and said, "I guess sediment collects quicker than the polar ice caps are melting."

"Why do you think communal bathrooms went out of use?" she asked as they viewed the crumbling latrine.

"Because they're extremely disturbing," Connor offered.

"I concur," Dawn said as a cold breeze blew through the ruins. "Geez, it's freezing all the sudden."

"Here, you can have my jacket," he said, shrugging it off and wrapping it around her shoulders. He was secretly glad he decided not to strap on his sword that morning.

"Aw, thank you."

Suddenly another gust of chilled wind hit them and black clouds filled the gold and sapphire sky.

"Dammit! Let's get the hell out of here!" Connor yelled as thunder clapped across the sky.

They only just made it to the scooter when the rain poured down in heavy sheets. The hid under an awning until an old woman invited them into her tall, narrow house. Her husband built a fire and she made them large mugs of hazlenut-flavored hot chocolate.

The rain continued in its severity until after the dinner Mrs. Orsini—as they learned was the old woman's name—prepared for them. At that point, they felt obliged to take the spare room with its small single bed she politely offered them.

Dawn and Connor then stood awkwardly alone in the dark room.

"I guess I'll take the floor," Connor said finally.

"You don't have to do that," she told him. "We can share the bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she answered in a high-pitched squeak.

"Yeah, you sound _real_ sure," he replied dubiously.

"Okay, fine, it's weird," she admitted, turning to look at him, "but I am not making you sleep on the floor."

"You're not making me; I'm offering."

"Oh, please," she groaned. "We're sleeping in the bed."

As she dropped her purse and slipped off her shoes, Connor walked over to the window and stared out onto the small terrace. He felt his heart tightening and his fingernails digging into the palms of his hand.

"What's wrong?" Dawn asked, sitting down on the bed.

"I don't like rain," he replied simply.

"Well, especially not when you're trapped by it."

"It's not that. It's just that, when it rains like this, it usually means something terrible and earth shattering is about to happen," he said, continuing to stare at the torrential rain.

"Hey, come here," Dawn said gently, motioning for him to join her on the bed. "The world isn't always coming to an end just because it's raining. Trust me, I know."

"Yeah, sure," Connor said, laughing slightly as he sat down next to her.

"You were born in the rain, and I think that's pretty amazing," she told him, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead.

"You're pretty amazing too," he smiled back.

"Thank you for a great day."

"You're welcome," he replied, squeezing her hand.

"Let's get some sleep."

* * *

In L.A…

It was twilight in downtown L.A. and Topher was still bent over a pile of books while he periodically looked over his shoulder every few seconds since Illyria was staring down at him unblinkingly. Gunn poured over files from a short stack of cardboard boxes. Kate's ear had been glued to the phone for hours.

The former detective sighed deeply and said, "Fine. Just tell him to call as soon as possible."

Gunn looked up as she slammed down the phone. "No luck?"

"It's very hard to get a hold of someone in the middle of the ocean," Kate replied.

"Hopefully he'll get the message before he makes it to Italy," Gunn said. "I been looking through these files, and I think there is a connection between En'Shon and the Gorvan'Chak. About a hundred years ago, when En'Shon was less old, Wolfram and Hart dropped him as a client because they found out he was funneling money to the Gorvan'Chak through a dummy corporation."

"Excuse me," Topher said, his head snapping up from the sparkling map in front of him on the floor. "Did you just say the law firm of Lucifer, Diavolus, and Hades _dropped_ a powerful sorcerer because he was sending money to the 'children' of a dead ancient demon?"

"Gorvan was more powerful and deadly than you could even imagine," Illyria said, staring at the wall before sharply turning her eyes toward Gunn.

"Okay, _she_ is saying that," Topher said, aiming a thumb in her direction. "And she killed him!"

"I guess Gorvan just didn't fit into the Senior Partner's master plan, or he didn't at the time," Gunn concluded, turning away from Illyria's cold stare. "They might have changed their minds since we destroyed most of their power in this plane of existence."

"And I'm out to do more destruction," Steph said as she opened the weapons cabinet and slid a sword into the sheath strapped to her back. "Although, it's been really quiet, so destruction doesn't really seem like a huge possibility."

"Need some backup?" Kate asked.

"No, thank you. I can handle it myself," Steph replied firmly as she slid three stakes into the specially made loops on her belt before cocking an eyebrow at her brother. "What are _you_ doing?"

"Well," Topher began, looking up at her, "I got Illyria to identify Lispoli as the place where she defeated Gorvan, and I am going to attempt to locate Faith so we can give Angel a more precise location…if he ever calls back."

"Have fun with that," she replied snidely.

Steph pulled her leather jacket on over her sheath and set out into the street. About three feet from the gate she bumped into a short, redheaded, young man with a knapsack and a guitar case.

"Oh, sorry," she said.

"It's okay," he replied with bright eyes before he smelled the air and his face became immediately grave.

"Is something wrong?" Steph asked him.

He made no answer other than to pull her down to the sidewalk as a deafening roar of an explosion filled her ears and stone shrapnel fell all around them.


	8. Aftershocks

A/N: So, I told you the next update would be quick, and it's a long one. I also really love this chapter, and I hope you do to. Got a question though, does anybody know what Faith's last name is? It's gonna come up in the next couple of chapters.

_

* * *

He saw dust and rain and his father's face. Then he saw sopping, brown strands of hair and Fred's tiny, sweet face. Then he felt the warmth of his father's coat. He heard his own cries silenced to giggles at the sight of a bumpy forehead, yellow eyes, and sharp teeth. He heard the most off-key rendition of the _Irish Lullaby_ in existence. He fell asleep nestled safely between his father and Cordelia as he listened to their hopes and dreams; most of them about him. Then his dream shifted: a hand around his tiny throat, his father completely surrounded. Angel agreeing to anything to keep his child alive. And then a man Connor thought he loved carried him down to hell._

* * *

Connor jolted awaked. Dawn stirred slightly, but didn't wake. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he carefully got out of the bed and tiptoed onto the tiny terrace since the rain had apparently stopped.

"Dad, it's like 3:30 in the morning here."

"Oh, God, Connor, you're still in Rome?" Larry Reilly asked, his voice tight with worry.

Connor rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Dad, I have an open ticket. I told you I wasn't sure when I would come back—"

"Connor, there was a terrorist attack in L.A.," his father cut him off.

"There _what_?" Connor asked, glancing back inside to see Dawn pulling her cell phone out of her purse.

"I don't know, son, but we were about to board when they grounded all flights to LAX," Larry explained. "From what they're saying on CNN, it looks like more than 20 churches, synagogues, and mosques blew up simultaneously."

"What-what churches were destroyed? Do you know?" Connor asked, glancing back into the room to find Dawn having an equally intense phone conversation.

"Well, the scientology center is gone…"

"I'm sure Tom Cruise is weeping. What about—"

"…and Our Lady of the Angels…"

Connor's eyes widened and his grip tightened on the iron railing. "Dad, I have to make a call."

"You're gonna call that Angel guy, aren't you?" his father asked, his voice suddenly grim.

"Our Lady is a hundred yards from his place," Connor replied angrily.

"I want you out of Rome, Connor. It's the religious seat of the world. It's not safe."

The young man rolled his eyes and said, "It's _one_ of the religious seats of the world, Dad, and nowhere is safe. I need to make a call. We'll talk about this later. Goodbye."

He hit the button to end the call before his father could protest further. He quickly made sure Dawn was still having her own conversation and then dialed the familiar number. The phone rang until Steph's voice said, "Thank you for calling Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. We are unable to answer your call—"

Connor quickly redialed. His foot tapped the stone impatiently as he listened to the ringing once more.

"What?" the answering voice asked gruffly.

Connor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Illyria?" he asked, listening to the shouting in the background.

"What do you want, lesser being?" she asked flatly.

He shook his head and said, "It's Connor, Illyria. I need to talk to Gunn. Could you get him for me? I mean call him over to the phone. Don't go pick him up from wherever he is and carry him back over."

A beat later, he heard Illyria scream Gunn's name so loud Connor had to hold the phone away from his ear. He then heard her say, "Angel's offspring wishes to speak with you."

Before Gunn could reach the receiver, Connor heard the shouting—mostly between Steph and Topher—resume. "Hey, Conn. You okay?"

"I was gonna ask you the same?"

"We lost some windows, but that's about it," Gunn answered. "Some shrapnel nearly took Steph out, but this guy…Oz, pushed her down at the last minute."

"Oz?" Connor asked. "Is he a short, pasty, red-headed dude?"

"How did you—"

"You should spend time with Angel and Spike when they're drunk and nostalgic," Connor replied. "He's from Sunnydale, he's a werewolf, and he's one of the good guys."

"Oh. Good to know," Gunn said as the noise in the background quieted. Connor assumed that meant one of the twins stomped upstairs in a huff, thus ending the shouting match.

"It wasn't a terrorist attack, was it?" Connor asked quietly.

"Nah," Gunn replied. "Right after it happened, Illyria got real cryptic with all this 'end has begun' crap. Topher got all concerned and Steph just got pissed. This Oz character is cool as a cucumber even though he and Illyria are having the world's weirdest staring contest."

Connor smiled at the mental image though his chest was still heavy with concern. "Have-have you heard from him since he left?"

"No, man, it's been—" Gunn suddenly stopped speaking and said, "Hold on a sec, Conn."

"Gunn, what, wait—"

"Hey, Connor," an unfamiliar female voice said. "I'm Kate. We haven't met."

"Oh, uh, hi," he replied uncertainly.

"Angel finally called back. Gunn's giving him an update. Topher got Illyria to pinpoint Lispoli as Gorvan's last stand earlier tonight. We think En'Shon's base might be there."

Connor nodded and his grip on the railing tightened. "I need to talk to Angel."

"Hold on."

Another long pause followed and Connor's grasp on the railing tightened until he felt the metal collapsing under his hand. He loosened his hold in mild embarrassment as he heard a click on the line.

"Hello? Gunn! What—"

The cast iron snapped in his hand before he heard Angel's voice saying, "Connor, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Connor said, sheepishly setting the section of railing down on the floor of the terrace. He glanced to the northeast and added, "Rome isn't burning and I don't hear any fiddle playing, so I think we're safe for the moment."

A beat later Angel said, "Connor, maybe you should start thinking about leaving Rome."

"My dad already gave me that speech, and I already shut him down."

"Look, kid, something is about to happen and I don't want you anywhere near it."

"That's so not gonna happen this time, Angel," Connor said firmly. "I'm here and I'm seeing this through."

He could almost hear the wheels spinning in Angel's head before the vampire said, "Are you willing to protect her with your life?"

"What?"

"The girl you're staying in Rome for," Angel explained shortly. "Are you going to protect her with your life?"

Connor glanced into the room and met the mirrors of Dawn's eyes. His breath caught in his throat and he replied, "Yes."

"Then you stay in Rome and protect her, or better yet, convince her to leave Rome with you."

Connor shook his head and said, "You can_not_ take Lispoli by yourself, Angel. It's not that far away. I could help."

"Connor, I'll be fine," Angel assured him. "I've got Faith."

"Please don't be a wise-ass at a time like this."

"Sorry. It's something I picked up from my kid," Angel replied quickly. "If everything goes well, I should have Faith back in Rome by tomorrow evening."

Connor rolled his eyes and said, "Don't get dusted."

"I appreciate your concern. I'll see you soon."

Connor slid his phone shut and looked into the room. Dawn was looking back at him with her own phone still in her hand. He slowly opened the door and quietly said, "Hey."

* * *

Dawn's eyes slowly opened. It had stopped raining and the moon shown in just enough to light upon Connor's face. He was smiling. It was a small, yet completely genuine smile. Then his face contorted as though he was in pain. Dawn closed her eyes to keep from seeing. She heard a quiet buzzing and then felt him get out of the narrow bed. She waited until the door of the terrace closed before she rolled over. As she watched him converse in low tones, her own cell phone began to ring in her purse.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?" Buffy screamed from London.

"Oh, God, Buffy, I'm sorry."

"You've been saying that a lot lately," Buffy replied angrily. "What is this guy doing to you, Dawnie?"

"Nothing! He's doing _nothing_ to me!" Dawn said in a stage whisper with her free hand gesturing emphatically. "He just treats me like an equal and you guys all still treat me like little, helpless Dawnie. And who the hell are you to judge me? What are _you_ doing up so late?"

"Dawn, every other religious institution in Los Angeles just went up in flames," Buffy said gravely.

"What?" Dawn asked, pausing in her pacing. "Was-was it a terrorist attack, or…?"

"Terrorists are the official story right now," Buffy said. "But that's not going to hold up. It wasn't just churches and synagogues. It was mosques and Buddhist temples and the scientology center for christ sake! And your gallivanting around Rome and god-knows-where—"

"Stop it! Just…stop it!" Dawn yelled emphatically. "I'm not into the Big Bad. I'm not a Slayer, or a witch, or anything, and Connor at least makes me feel normal. Let me have that, please, and don't you dare blame me for something for not knowing something I couldn't _possibly_ know about."

"I'm sorry, but you scared the crap out of me," Buffy told her more calmly. "But I hear that churches are blowing up and you're out there in church central somewhere and I don't know where you are, or if you're safe, and-and-and Our Lady of the Angels blew up!"

Dawn listened in silence as Buffy's rant ended in sobs and the din in the background lessened. Dawn imagined her sister hiding in a closet or a hallway away from the craziness of the new Watcher central. She tried to think of something to say as Buffy's sobs continued.

"I don't care. I shouldn't care," she went on. "He didn't-he didn't need me. Why should I care if he's dust or not?"

Dawn bit her lip. "Buffy, I-I don't really know what to say, but Angel _was_ your first real love. It's okay to be concerned about him."

"Sometimes I think the whole love thing isn't worth it at all," Buffy said, sniffling.

Dawn looked through the glass door and her eyes locked onto his blue orbs. "I think it's worth it," she replied, barely above a whisper.

After a pause, Buffy said, "You looking at the lover boy right now, aren't you?"

Dawn tore her eyes away and said, "At the moment, no, I'm not looking at him."

"Well, you're not going to be looking at him very much longer," Buffy warned, the noise in the background increasing. "I'll be back in a couple of days, and you are going to be totally grounded, and you _know_ I will make you stay that way."

"You can't protect me from myself and what I want, Buffy."

"Maybe not, but this _boy_ certainly can't protect you from all the things we know about in this world."

"Yeah, but I'm not as much of a target without you around."

"Hey!"

"Buffster, I really gotta talk to you," Dawn heard Xander's voice demand in a nervous tone.

"I'm talking to Dawn," Buffy replied shortly.

"Dawn Patrol!" Xander said too-brightly into the phone. "Stay indoors and away from the Vatican."

"I've heard that," Dawn replied.

"Gimme the phone!" Buffy growled. "Look, Dawn, I think I have to go. Just remember, you are extremely grounded when I get home."

"Fine. Whatever," Dawn said, clicking her phone shut and turning to find Connor standing in the doorway to the terrace.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she replied with and equally quiet volume. "L.A. is kind of on fire."

"I know," he answered. "My dad told me from the airport in Jamaica."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her hear and hesitantly said, "Doesn't your other-your real dad—"

"He's out of the country," Connor cut her off. "I talked to him too, though. Our Lady of the Angels is just up the street from where he lives, and it's…gone."

"I know," Dawn said, nodding. "Someone my sister used to, well, date lives around there too. She still cares about him. She just doesn't want to admit it."

Connor nodded. "They want me to leave Rome, both of them," he said.

"Are you going?" Dawn asked, looking at the floor.

Before she looked back up, a hand was on her face and his lips were pressed to hers. She instinctually laced her fingers through his hair and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

When they came up for air, he rested his forehead against hers, and said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Dawn smiled. "Good. Because according to my sister, I'm not going anywhere for a very long time," she laughed lightly.

He laughed along with her before he placed a series of short kisses on her lips. The both moved toward the tiny bed. Connor's hands slid easily up her shirt and she worked the buttons on his with equal ease. They fell into the bed and Connor lifted himself up so as not to crush her. They flew apart at the sound of a knock on the door and were sitting awkwardly on opposite sides the bed when light streamed into the room from the hallway.

Mrs. Orsini said something in rapid-fire Italian to which Connor replied, "Gratzi."

She smiled at them knowingly and Dawn blushed deeply in response. The woman then closed the door leaving them in awkwardness and darkness.

"I think her husband is going to five us a ride," she said, straightening her shirt and pulling on her shoes.

"Yeah, that's-that's what she said," Connor agreed, his eyes focused on his own shoes as he laced them onto his feet.

"Well, then I guess we should go," she said, standing up and hoisting her purse onto her shoulder.

They rode in the front of Mr. Orsini's truck in utter silence. It was still dark when he stopped in front of Dawn's apartment building and helped Connor get the scooter down from the back. He drove off leaving the younger couple staring anywhere but at one another.

"Are you, like, mad at me?" Connor asked, finally breaking the silence.

"I-no-of course not," she quickly replied, meeting his reluctant eyes. "I just…kind of feel guilty."

"Why?"

"Well, L.A. is on fire, my sister is freaking out because she doesn't know what's happened to her ex, and all I can think about is you and _being_ with you," she explained. "I'm just an awful, awful person."

"Dawn, you're not an awful person," he told her, tucking her hair behind her ears and holding her face in his hands. "I've been through a lot of things, and they always at least seemed like the end of the world. And when those things happen, we have to cling to the things that matter most to keep our sanity."

She looked into his eyes as tears glassed over her own. "I think I love you."

He kissed her softly until his lungs begged for breath. His lips hesitantly left hers and he whispered in her ear, "I love you, too."

She laughed mirthlessly as she locked her hands together behind his neck. "My sister's coming home and I'm not going to see the light of day until I go to Oxford."

"She won't be back tonight, will she?"

"I don't think so."

"Then tonight can be our swan song…for now," he said, smirking.

Dawn smiled up at him and said, "What are we gonna do?"

"Anything we want."

Dawn's smiled widened as she kissed him once more and replied, "I'll see you tonight."

She reluctantly let go of him and walked into her apartment building to find Maria angrily staring her down from the first landing.

"You know you're not going to see that boy again, don't you?" Maria said coldly with her arms folded across her chest.

Dawn glared at her and took a deep breath. "Maria, I know you're a Slayer and you've got the calling and the super strength, and I have been dealing with it for nearly as long as I can remember. Actually, I _have_ been dealing with it my whole life! And I have one thing in my life that's normal. He's amazing and he loves me even though I ruined his shoes and nearly broke his back that one time. And I _know_ bad things are happening, but I am _going_ to hold onto him. And if you try to stop me, you'll find out Summers women have a strength all their own.

* * *

In L.A…

"Is something happening, or not?" Kate asked, leaning over to whisper to Gunn.

"I'm not sure," he answered.

"Okay, something's wrong," Topher announced frantically, looking up from his glittering map. "Either Angel, Faith, Connor, Spike, my demon buddies Furlo and Finn, and anyone else we happen to know in the Northern Mediterranean are all dead, or someone is blocking me."

"Blocking you? Are you sure you're doing it right?"

"Kate, please," Topher said, looking up at her in mild exasperation. "Not to brag, or anything, but I'm a powerful warlock and this is a _locator_ spell. It's like, Magick 101 and I'm doing my doctoral thesis."

"How does that skinny body hold up such a big head?" Gunn replied.

"Uh, guys," Kate interrupted, motioning their attention toward Illyria, who was staring at the door.

Gunn turned slightly in his chair and gently said, "Illyria, what's going on?"

"Duck."

"What?"

"Duck!" Illyria yelled, pulling Kate down as fire flashed outside and glass shattered all around them.

"What the hell?" Gunn yelled, sitting up in his chair.

Topher scrambled to his feet. "Stephanie!" he screamed, running for the door.

"Kate, the roof!" Gunn ordered, wheeling after Topher at top speed.

"On it!" she yelled back, taking the steps three at a time.

Topher skidded to a halt at the end of the courtyard. Pieces of Our Lady of the Angels littered the sidewalk and flames whipped out of what remained of its stone walls. "Steph-Steph-Stephanie!" he screamed.

"Topher!" he heard her voice yell back.

He spun around to find a red-headed guy helping his twin to her feet. Topher flung his arms around her neck and his tears soaked into her hair.

"Are you okay?"

"I think my wrist might be sprained," she replied, cradling her arm. "It would have been worse without this guy."

"Thank you!" Topher exclaimed before throwing his arms around the slightly smaller man.

"Uh…you're welcome," the man said, awkwardly patting Topher's back.

Gunn wheeling onto the sidewalk and stared at Our Lady. He bowed his head for a moment before turning to the three other people on the sidewalk. "Steph, you okay?"

"Still pretty much in one piece," she answered though she still cradled her arm.

Gunn then turned his attention to the red-headed man and said, "Who are you?"

"Oz," he replied evenly.

"Okay, let's just get inside," Gunn ordered as sirens blared through the air.

They all trudged back inside to find Illyria standing still and staring straight ahead. "It has begun."

"What?" Topher asked, helping his irritated sister down the steps.

"The end," she replied before turning her eyes sharply toward Oz.

"Oh, that's just wonderful," Gunn groaned before grabbing the first aid kit out of the bottom of the weapons cabinet.

Topher grabbed the kit from him and sat his sister down on the settee in the center of the room. Oz laid his bag down before noticing Illyria's critical gaze which he easily returned.

"I counted at least ten more fires," Kate said, bounding down the stairs slightly out of breath. "I couldn't tell what they were, though."

"Turn on the TV," Gunn ordered as he wheeled closer to Steph and Topher. "You sure you don't need to go to the emergency room?"

"Just wrap it up," she replied as her brother proceeded to do just that. "Even if it's broken, or cracked it'll heal in a couple of days."

"It was religious institutions," Kate announced. "All different kinds, all over the city. They've counted twenty so far. Who is that?"

"I'm Oz," he replied, breaking his gaze on Illyria only briefly to look at Kate.

"He save Steph's life," Topher added.

"Oh. They're up to thirty now."

"Has anybody taken credit? Any terrorist organizations?"

"Nope, not a word."

"Gunn, we have to call the Slayers," Steph said urgently, pulling on his shirtsleeve.

"I am so not having this conversation with you again," Topher said, still focused on wrapping her wrist.

"I'm not having this conversation with _you_. I'm having it with Gunn."

Gunn held up a placating and said, "Look, I asked Angel after Faith was taken and he told me not to call them, so we're not calling them."

"But circumstances have changed."

"What circumstances? I used to blow shit up all the time…not on purpose, but still."

"You never blew up thirty churches!"

"Thirty-seven!" Kate corrected. "And they're temples, mosques, and synagogues as well, oh, and the scientology center."

"And this was not a terrorist attack!" Steph screamed at her brother.

"Just because no one's taken credit doesn't mean it wasn't a terrorist attack. Give it forty-five minutes!"

Gunn rubbed his head and closed his eyes as Steph yelled back, "You are so stupid! Can you not see what's going on?"

"I see what's happening, but I'm not going to jump to wild conclusions."

"It's not a wild conclusion and the Slayers _need_ to know."

"Oh, you think they'll be helpful?" he asked sarcastically. "They named themselves after a cartoon dog!"

"Gunn!"

They all physically jumped at the horrifying sound of Illyria's scream. Then they turned to find her standing behind the desk holding the receiver away from her body.

"Angel's offspring wishes to speak with you," she said at a nominal volume.

As Gunn wheeled toward Illyria, Steph glared at her brother and said, "You know nothing about the Slayers."

"I know more than you!"

"Listening to Spike and Angel talk about their ex when they're drunk doesn't mean you know anything about being a Slayer!"

"Thank God! If I were, it would mean I'm more like you!"

"Because being like you is _so_ much better!"

"Damn straight!"

"Go to hell!"

Steph grabbed the rest of the gauze from her brother's hands and ran up the stairs. Kate sighed deeply in relief.

Oz, with his eyes still locked on Illyria, said, "Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much."

"What's with her?"

"No one really knows."

The phone started ringing, and Kate handed Oz the remote, and said, "Watch the TV."

She picked up the phone and said, "Hello. I mean, Angel Invest—oh, my God, Angel. You call back _now_?"

"Hold on a sec, Conn," Gunn said into the phone. "Kate, switch."

She gave Gunn the receiver and he said, "Angel, man, glad you called us back. We got problems. Our Lady of the Angels and thirty-odd religious institutions just blew up."

"The count's up to 42," Oz called out, still staring at the television.

"Okay, 42 religious institutions," Gunn corrected. "Oh, and your friend Oz is here. Not sure why yet, we've been distracted. Anyway, we got Illyria to pinpoint Lispoli as her last stand with Gorvan. Did you get our message?"

"Yeah, and it lines up with intelligence I've gotten linking En'Shon to Lispoli," Angel replied. "I think Faith is being held in a mansion there. There's a cargo plane that'll fly over. I'm gonna drop in on them and get Faith back to Rome."

"Well, it's not the craziest plan you've ever come up with," Gunn replied. "It's close. You need some back up."

"There's no way you could get here in time."

"I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about your girl Buffy and her Slayer friends."

"No."

"Look, man, Our Lady of the Angels is in pieces. This is too big, even for you."

"I'm getting a friend out of a dangerous situation, Gunn, that's it," Angel said irritably. "If we really need Buffy's help in L.A., then I'll call her, but we'll make that decision when I get back. Okay?"

"Fine, Angel, it's your call."

"Gunn, Connor wants to talk to Angel," Kate told him.

"Hey, we got your boy on the other line. He wants to talk to you."

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Okay, call us when you've got Faith," Gunn said briefly before looking over at Topher who was pacing back and forth furiously. "Yo, Topher, get over here and connect these two calls."

"Everybody's always ordering me around," he muttered as he started pressing buttons on the phone. "'Topher, fix this. Topher, find her.' I'm not a vending machine."

"You not gonna be anything if you keep talking," Gunn warned him.

Topher glared at him briefly before he hit a final button and said, "Okay, they're connected. Hang up the receivers."

Kate and Gunn did so as Topher sighed deeply and collapsed into his office chair. Gunn wheeled over to his boxes of information on En'Shon and Gorvan and started looking through the files. Kate walked over to where Illyria stood behind Oz, dividing her time between staring at his back and the television screen.

"Illyria," Kate began gently, "what did you mean when you said the end had started?"

"Your puny human existences are made up of beginnings and endings," Illyria said, looking strait ahead. "An end is coming."

"Will there be another beginning?"

Illyria turned her head and looked Kate directly in the eye. "That is entirely up to you."

* * *

In London…

"This had better be good," Buffy said, picking up the phone.

"Is your sister," Maria's voice answered.

"Is she sick or something?" Buffy asked, switching on the lamp and sitting up in the bed.

"No, she has not come home."

"What?"

"She went out on date, and it was raining very hard, but she has not come back."

"Oh, I'm so going to kill her," Buffy muttered, throwing off the covers and slipping on the nearest pair of shoes. "Thanks, Maria."

She hung the phone up on the bedside table and grabbed a hoodie from the bedpost. She opened her door to find Andrew with his fist raised in a knocking motion.

"Oh. You're awake. Awesome. You need to come to the war room."

"We have a war room?" Buffy asked, following the slightly smaller man.

"We do now…I think," he replied uncertainly rushing down the halls of the mansion they'd appropriated as Watcher Headquarters.

They entered the former dining room to a flurry of activity. Kennedy and Giles were both on the phone, Willow had her locator map out on the table, and Xander was examining a more pedestrian map with intensity. A television displayed a burning building in the background. Andrew stood in front of it and bit his lip and tapped his foot as he watched.

Buffy shook her head in tired confusion and tapped Willow on the shoulder. "Will, I need you to find Dawn. She didn't go home last night."

"What? Oh, okay, I'll try," Willow replied distractedly.

"Andrew, you were supposed to tell her what happened," Xander said, looking up from his map.

"I'm sorry. I'm very distracted right now," Andrew replied irritably.

"What is going on?" Buffy asked.

"Forty-two religious institutions in Los Angeles just exploded," Xander explained gravely. "No terrorist organization has taken credit."

"Religious institutions?"

"Yeah: churches, temples, mosques…the scientology center," Willow answered without looking up from her map

"Our Lady of the Angels was the first to go," Andrew said, staring at the screen.

Buffy flinched visibly and Xander gently laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "I'm sure he's okay."

"I don't care," she replied a little too harshly as she shook off his hand.

"Hey, Buffy, I've got Rona on the phone," Kennedy called from the far wall. "She wants to know if they should evacuate, investigate, or just kick some ass."

"Um…investigate?" Buffy answered uncertainly. "I need to call my sister," she muttered, taking out her cell phone and walking to the corner of the room.

"Something wrong, Will?" Xander asked, noticing his best friend's look of consternation.

"I'm not sure. I can't find Dawn."

"She's not…dead, is she?"

"No, it's just like something's keeping me from finding her, but I don't think she's in danger…"

"We're always in danger," Xander muttered.

Giles hung up his phone and came over to them. "I just finished talking to Robin Wood. Aside from his continued concern about Faith, he says the Hellmouth just became incredibly active. I'm splitting the teams from the major cities in the U.S. and sending reinforcements to Cleveland and Los Angeles."

"Sounds like a plan, Stan."

They all heard Buffy sob and then slam the door into the kitchen. Giles' forehead wrinkled in confusion and Willow said, "She's upset that Angel might be dead and she doesn't want to admit it."

"Oh. I see," Giles replied even though he really saw nothing. "Try and find Spike and Angel and Faith, since we apparently have no other way of contacting the girl. I get the feeling we'll nee all the help we can get on this one."

Willow mock-saluted and said, "I'll do my best, Sir."

A slayer named Amy tapped Xander on the shoulder and said, "There's a call for you from Stephanie Alzario."

"Stephanie Alzario?" Giles asked. "Isn't that the slayer Angel discovered?"

"Uh-huh," Xander said, taking the cordless phone from Amy. "Maybe she has some information to share."

He walked to the far side of the room where it was less noisy and said, "This is Xander."

"Okay, I really shouldn't be talking to you," Stephanie's voice replied in a whisper. "Angel doesn't want us calling you guys and my brother will probably try to set me on fire when he finds out."

"Stephanie, it's okay. We already know about the explosions in L.A."

"That's not the only reason I'm calling. I'm calling because Faith was kidnapped a few days ago and I think it's connected."

Xander blinked and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Could you say that again?"

"Faith was kidnapped in Rome a few days ago by the Gorvan'Chak."

"The what?"

"The children of Gorvan," Stephanie explained, exasperated. "He's one of the Old Ones and there's this sorcerer, En'Shon, that we think is working for him, or with him, or whatever. And we think that they've got Faith on Lispoli, and Angel's going after her sometime in the next couple of days."

"By himself?" Xander asked, shocked at the sheer stupidity.

"Yeah. I just thought you guys needed to know. Bye."

The dial tone filled his ears and Xander found himself staring blankly into space. He then rushed toward the kitchen, dropping the receiver somewhere along the way.

"Buffster, I really gotta talk to you."

She looked at him in annoyance. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. "It's Dawn," she told him irritably.

Xander took the phone from her hands and cheerily said, "Dawn Patrol! Stay indoors and away from the Vatican."

"I've heard that," Dawn returned sarcastically.

"Gimme the phone!" Buffy demanded, pulling the phone away from him with her super strength. She rolled her eyes and continued, "Look, Dawn, I think I have to go. Just remember, you are extremely grounded when I get home."

A beat later, Buffy flipped the phone shut and looked up at him in annoyance. "What is wrong with you?"

"We have a problem."

"Oddly, I'd already figured that out."

"I'm not talking about the attack on L.A. I'm talking about Faith. She's not running away from her commitment issues. She was kidnapped a few days ago in Rome."

"What?" Buffy asked, uncrossing her arms. "How do you know?"

"Um, well, I just got a phone call from the slayer that's been working with Angel for the last couple of years," Xander explained.

"And Angel kept it from us?"

"Oh, he did more than that," Xander continued cautiously. "He went after her himself. He's on his way to Lispoli right now."

"I can_not _believe him!" Buffy muttered, steam practically blowing out of her ears. "How could he be so stupid?"

Xander's face scrunched up. "Buffy, look, you know I'm probably the furthest thing from Angel's biggest fan…but what else would he have done after what happened?"

Buffy glared up at him. "We need to find him. Now."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! R&R doesn't stand for rest and relaxation in FanFic land!


	9. Calls for Help

A/N: Okay, so this chapter is also incredibly long, and for a story that's actually about Dawn and Connor, they're hardly in it. It's mostly a flashback explaining my version of events immediately following "Not Fade Away". More flashbacks will be in proceeding chapters, and I hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

Connor closed the door to his apartment and pulled down the shades on the windows. He had just collapsed into his bed when he heard an incessant knocking on the door. His eyes widened at what he saw on the other side.

"Your hair is brown," he said instead of a greeting.

"Lovely to see you, too, Junior," Spike replied, wrapping his coat more tightly around his body. "It's bloody freezing outside."

"It's also very flammable outside right now," Connor reminded him.

"Don't be daft. I took the sewers. Just let me in already."

"Okay. Fine."

"Seriously? _You_, of all people, should know better."

Connor rolled his eyes and dramatically said, "Come in, Spike."

"Thank you," Spike replied, shrugging off his coat as he entered the room.

"Christ, that's terrifying," Connor said, his eyes widening at what was revealed under Spike's leather coat.

"What? You've never seen a priest before?"

"This is Rome. I've seen plenty of priests," Connor answered. "What I've never seen before is a vampire in a cassock! How the fuck did you become a priest?"

"You should watch your language around men of the cloth."

"Oh, please," Connor groaned. "Tell me you're not actually a priest."

"I am not," Spike confirmed, pulling the white tab out of his Nehru collar. "There, does that make you more comfortable?"

"Actually, yes," Connor said, sitting down on top of his weapons chest. "What are you doing here, Spike?"

"I'm working for Cardinal Garibaldi."

Connor's eyebrows shot up. "Garibaldi? He's like the pope's right hand man. Does he know you're a vampire?"

"Yes."

"Okay, this is just getting weirder and more twisted," Connor moaned, holding his head in his hands.

"He's worried for the pope and the world for that matter. I've been working as a spy."

"Spying on whom?"

"Some of the other members of the church are siding with one of your dad's old rivals, En'Shon."

"Siding with him against who?"

"The good guys, I guess," Spike replied.

"You're a very informative spy, Spike," Connor said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Look, boy, do you not know what's going on?"

"I know about Los Angeles," Connor said.

"And the torrential rain last night and the freezing temperature today. That's not normal Roman weather for any time of the year, much less the end of June," Spike continued. "There's an apocalypse coming."

"An apocalypse, or _the_ apocalypse?"

"You think that really matters?"

"Yeah, I kinda do."

"I'm not sure," Spike admitted.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Don't think I don't know what you do at night," Spike warned. "And I heard about your run-in with the Immortal. Nice bit of work, that, but what were you thinking?"

"He'd tried to warn me off from fighting with En'Shon's men a few days earlier," Connor began. "And then Faith was taken, and I thought he might know something about it. Do you know about Faith?"

"Yeah, I heard."

"Why would they take her and ignore me?"

"You think you're that important, do you?"

"Just answer the question."

Spike sighed and said, "Blood."

"What?"

"There are few things in this world more powerful than a Slayer's blood," Spike expounded. "If my sources are correct and En'Shon is trying to raise Gorvan, a Slayer's blood might be extremely helpful."

"Well, that's just great," Connor groaned. "What do you want from me?"

"You have better things to do?" Spike asked incredulously.

"I might," Connor replied defensively.

"Really? What's her name?"

"I am so not telling you."

"Alright, but keep your ear to the ground," Spike said, replacing the white tab and pulling on his coat. "You need to be ready for whatever happens next."

"Fine. Whatever," Connor said, crawling into his bed. "By the way, Angel is going to try to rescue Faith tonight."

"Alone?"

"Yep."

"Well, your dad always was a bleeding idiot," Spike muttered.

"Though not as big an idiot as you."

Spike glared at him, but Connor just smirked and said, "What? Everybody knows Darla was the brains of the operation."

"Yeah, you inherited that smug face from your mum," Spike muttered. "Where's Angel headed?"

"Lispoli."

"I'll try to send some help the big oaf's way. That's all I can do on such short notice."

"Thank you."

"You mind what I said."

"Go away, Spike," Connor groaned, covering his head with a pillow.

"Just like his father," Spike muttered before the door closed.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. The end of the world could wait for another day.

* * *

In London…

"What do you mean you can't find him? Is he dead?"

"No, no, I don't think so," Willow replied, leaning back in her chair. "I tried locating all the priests in Rome and couldn't find any, and I think we all know that doesn't make sense. It's like something or someone is blocking me."

"Blocking you?"

"Will, how is that even possible?"

"Only someone with immense power would be able to block a witch of Willow's caliber," Giles said, sighing and cleaning his glasses.

"What about that En'Shon guy Stephanie mentioned?" Xander asked. "Would he have that kind of power?"

"Most likely…from what I know of him," Giles replied gravely.

"Okay, okay, do we have anyone anywhere near Lispoli?" Buffy asked. "If we can't stop him maybe we can help him."

"Everyone from that area is here, and since we don't know exactly when Angel is gonna hit the place, we couldn't be much help anyway," Kennedy said, handing Willow a cup of coffee and gently rubbing her shoulder.

"Ugh! God, why is he doing this?" Buffy grumbled, rubbing her forehead.

Xander and Willow exchanged a significant look. Kennedy's eyes shifted between them and one of her eyebrows shot up.

"Okay, someone's going to have to explain to me what happened two years ago when you guys went to L.A. and I stayed in Rio. I mean, I've heard bits and pieces and I certainly know what you did, babe, but I think I'm missing a big piece of the picture."

"I'm going to see how Andrew is coming with the research," Buffy said through her teeth before stomping into the next room. Giles said nothing, but followed her leaving the other three in the dining room.

Kennedy sat down on the mahogany table and sipped her own cup of coffee. "Well, I've got time."

"Okay, the first thing you need to understand is that we actually have no idea how or why Buffy decided to go to L.A. and save Angel," Willow began.

"Seriously?"

"She never told us."

"And frankly, I'm too scared to ask," Xander added.

"So…I know she and that Angel guy have a history, and that it's all dark and lovelorn, but what happened that made them break ties so completely?"

"Well…"

* * *

Two Years Ago…

"Good thing you and Faith remembered this place, Will," Xander said, supporting his best friend as they stumbled into the dusty lobby of the Hyperion with dozens of Slayers behind them.

"I just wish they'd cleaned it sometime in the last year," Willow replied as she collapsed on the dusty settee. "Goddess, I'm _so_ exhausted."

"You just blasted hundreds of demons into a firey oblivion. I think you're due a little rest."

"Xander, help!" Buffy called from the doorway. She and Faith were supporting Angel between them.

"We keep carrying him like this, we're gonna tear him in half," Faith said, her voice strained.

"Are we sure that's a bad thing?" Spike said before falling to the floor.

"Oops. My bad," Andrew announced, attempting to pull the blond vampire up.

"You want me to help _him_?" Xander asked, motioning to the ridiculous sight a few feet away.

"No, I got it," Buffy replied. "Vi, come help get him up the stairs."

"Grab his legs," Faith ordered the redhead. "Xander, support his midsection. Make sure he doesn't fall apart.

"Come on, Spike," Buffy said as she hauled him to his feet.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Andrew asked squeakily.

"He's a vampire. He'll recover," Buffy said, sitting Spike down next to Willow.

Spike then muttered something incoherently.

"Did you say something, Spike?"

"I said, 'blood.' I'm gonna need blood if you expect me to recover from all these gaping holes. The foreheaded one's gonna need some too, if you care."

"You need blood? I have blood. You want some of mine?" Andrew asked, holding out his arm.

At their bemused, horrified, and shocked expressions, Andrew sheepishly put his arms behind his back. Buffy shook her head and said, "Take Rona and some of the girls. Hit up some local butcher shops for the blood we need."

"It's the middle of the night. What if they're not open?"

"Just take what we need and we'll send them a nice check later."

Andrew rushed to follow Buffy's orders as Vi appeared on the steps. "Xander wants to know if we've found any med-kits. He thinks he can stitch up Angel."

"I think they kept one in the weapons cabinet. Over there," Willow said, motioning to the wooden wardrobe near the front door.

Buffy quickly found the kit and bounded up the stairs, ordering the rest of them to gather supplies as she went. Spike groaned and said, "I guess I know why she's here."

"Don't be like that," Willow told him kindly. "Angel's unconscious and was nearly cut in half. You're just full of holes."

"Very comforting, Red," he replied, groaning in pain.

"Found another med kit!" one of the younger slayers announced, popping up from behind the reception desk.

"Bring it here," Willow ordered. "Take your coat off. I'll see if I can fill some of those holes."

"Sure you're up to it?" Spike asked, his face contorting in pain as he pulled off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Willow excused as she opened the plastic container. "I just can't do much magick, or walk, but stitching you up should be _no_ problem."

He chuckled slightly he grimaced in pain.

"Hey, just because the sun's coming up doesn't mean we're safe," Faith announced as she marched down the stairs. "Let's get a defensive perimeter set up. Move!"

"Faith, don't forget about the basement. There's sewer access," Willow reminded her.

"I'm on it," Faith answered, picking the red axe up from where Buffy had left it near the door.

"How do you know so much about this place, Red?"

"I came here last year," she explained. "Angel's team thought it would be a good idea to put his soul in a jar so Angelus could help them defeat this Beast thing. The plan kind of backfired. Wesley had to break Faith out of prison and Fred called me to re-ensoul Angel."

"Oh. Ow!"

"Sorry."

"I don't remember any of that. What was I doing?"

"I think you were having a crisis of conscience," Willow explained, dabbing a wound in his abdomen.

"I can't die of an infection. Just stitch me up," he grumbled.

"Sorry, Buffy's usually the vampire nurse," Willow muttered in return as she pressed a large piece of gauze against the hole. "Hold that while I get the tape."

As she rummaged around in the box, the imperious, blue-tinted woman strode in and walked behind the desk. Willow stared at her for a long moment and said, "She looks like Fred."

"That's coz she took Fred's body," Spike said as she tightly taped down his wound. "Or he took her. I'm not real sure Illyria had a sex before…"

"I'm sorry," Willow said, twisting her hands in her lap.

"There wasn't anything you could have done," Spike said as she bandaged his left forearm. "It would have been nice if you'd tried, though."

"It wasn't my decision, Spike."

"I know. It was all Big Bad Buffy."

"Spike—"

"No, you listen to me, Red," he interrupted angrily. "I come back from sinking Sunnydale, and who am I stuck with? Angel! Pompous, bloody Angel! And Fred was decent to me. She genuinely wanted to help me, and…she was my friend. She was the best of us. And_ you_ knew her. How could any of you just let someone that full of the light die?"

Willow's eyes had unconsciously filled with tears during Spike's speech. She wiped them away and said, "We-we thought—"

"We need some help down here!" Faith's voice called from the basement.

"Dammit! Watch her!" Spiked ordered Illyria as he ran for the door at the back hall.

"Spike, no!" Willow called after him uselessly.

Most of the slayers remaining in the lobby followed him downstairs, leaving Willow alone with Illyria, who stared down at the redhead with her impossibly blue eyes.

"He didn't literally mean watch me," Willow told her, looking at the floor. "He just meant don't let me get killed."

"Oh."

Willow then found herself screeching as Illyria hauled her off the settee and shoved her behind the front desk. Willow was about to ask what screw the demon had loose when the front doors burst open and she was forced to crouch underneath the desk to avoid flying debris. She heard the crack and squish of breaking bone and flesh and she heard the even more frightening noises of Illyria seething vengeance and violence.

She took in her immediate surroundings and was surprised to find over a dozen cardboard boxes next to her on the floor. Unlike everything else in the hotel, these were not covered in a layer of dust. The neat script on the side said, "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." After instinctively ducking as a heavy object collided with the front of the desk, Willow lifted the lid of one of the boxes and pulled out the first volume to come to hand. It was a worn, leather-bound journal. She was about to open it when an explosion rocked the space. When the noise quieted down, Willow grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet, still clutching the journal to her chest.

"Is anyone alive out there?" she called into the dust and smoke.

Illyria popped up into Willow's vision and the redhead gasped and nearly lost her grasp on the desk. The blue woman then grabbed her collar and lifted her a few inches off the ground.

"Are you alive?"

Willow gulped and replied, "I think so. Please put me down."

Illyria dropped her so hard, Willow fell on her butt, but she still managed to hold onto the journal.

"What the hell is going on?" she heard Buffy yell as her footsteps resounded loudly on the stairs.

"He sealed the basement from the sewers," Faith's labored voice answered. "Unfortunately, he nearly blew himself up in the process."

"Lay him down here. Where's Willow?"

"I'm down here," Willow replied, waving her arm in the air so it showed just above the desk.

"Are you okay?" Buffy called out.

"Sure," Willow called back. "I'm just gonna not move for a while."

"My God, how could he have been so stupid?"

"Maybe it's just something in the men you attract, B."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Don't you two dare start fighting!"

She then nearly felt the two slayers rolling _their_ eyes.

Willow opened the journal as Buffy and Faith muttered arguments about the best way to treat Spike's latest injuries. A loose sheet of paper fell out an onto her lap. She opened it curiously and it read:

_If someone is reading this, I imagine I am dead. These books are from my own personal library and some volumes I liberated from Wolfram and Hart's archives. These books are not to go back to my family or the Watcher's council in England. They are to stay with Angel, should he survive the night. Should he not survive, the books should go to Connor Reilly, a freshman at Stanford University. The reasons for this seemingly unorthodox decision are contained within the pages of this journal should you care to read it. Take care, and give my love to everyone._

_Wesley Wyndam-Pryce._

Willow couldn't decide what was more shocking: that Wesley was willing to leave his books to a random freshman, or that he stole books, even if they were from Wolfram and Hart.

"Angel's unconscious—what the hell happened to Spike?" Xander asked.

"He blew himself up," Buffy and Faith answered simultaneously.

"Oh. Of course. Where's Will?"

"Down here!" she called back, waving her hand.

"What are you doing down there?" Xander asked, leaning over the desk.

"This is where I landed, so I'm staying _right_ here."

"What's all this?" Xander asked, sitting down on the floor next to her.

"Wesley's books," she answered. "I guess he figured he wouldn't make it back. He left them here for Angel. You said he was unconscious. Is he gonna be okay?"

"I'm not familiar enough with vampire biology to really answer that question, but he's not dust, so I guess he'll heal eventually."

"What?" Willow asked, noticing a strange look on her friend's face.

"He was kind of muttering some stuff when we were up there," Xander began. "Whenever Buffy would talk, he'd say something like, 'you shouldn't be here.'"

"Well," Willow replied, her eyebrows knitting together above her nose, "maybe he thinks we're all a mirage and Buffy shouldn't be there because she's imaginary."

He glared at her with his single and she instantly wilted under his gaze. "Okay, so maybe he's pissed and doesn't want her here, or any of us for that matter."

"You think he's still sore because we wouldn't let him take care of the slayer a few months ago?" Xander asked. "I can understand how Andrew might have rubbed him the wrong way."

"That's not it," Willow said, glancing at Illyria before turning her eyes back to her friend. "It's just that…Angel has lost person after person since he's been here, and—before this little adventure—he called us for help to save one of his friends. _He_ called _us_ and we turned our backs on him. I mean, Spike is upset about it; I'm sure Angel is cut to the bone."

"What did he expect? He—"

The sound of Buffy and Faith arguing cut Xander off. Willow groaned and said, "Go split them up before they kill each other."

The Hyperion quieted as the sun rose to its apex. Half the slayers napped while the others kept a half-hearted watch. Xander slept on Willow's lap as she read Wesley's journal. A sandwich appeared on the box nearest her and Faith sat down on the floor across from her.

"Rona liberated some food while Andrew got the blood," Faith told her. "Thought you were exhausted."

"Well, I still can't do much magick and walking kind of makes my heard swim, but I'm not sleepy," Willow answered.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Wesley's watcher's diary."

"That must be a short read."

"Well, the section on you and Buffy is short, but he started writing about Angel as though he were Angel's watcher."

"Sounds like Wes," Faith concluded.

"The entries from last year are a little weird, though," Willow mused. "They don't totally make sense and there are notes telling me to refer to sections from this year."

"Yeah, that would be weird if we weren't us."

Willow chuckled as loud, uneven footsteps resounded on the stairs.

"Angel, stop!" Buffy's voice called out.

"Xander, off my lap. Help me up," Willow demanded, holding her arms out to Faith.

Xander groggily stumbled into an upright position while Faith helped Willow move around the desk. They found that Angel had made it all the way down the stairs, though he was paler than usual and one of his hands appeared to be holding in his left side. Buffy was right behind him wearing a clear and open expression of worry.

"Angel, you shouldn't be moving around like this," she told him softly, placing a hand on his arm.

He shook her hand off violently and muttered, "Don't touch me."

"Oh, this is bad," Willow groaned.

"Where's Gunn?" Angel demanded, his voice labored.

"Who?" Buffy asked quietly.

"We got him out," Faith piped up, leaving Xander to support Willow. "Giles took him to the hospital."

"He's still in surgery, though," Willow added. "He was in pretty bad shape."

Angel's eyes met Illyria's implacable gaze and he nodded an acknowledgement. She simply nodded curtly in reply.

"What the hell happened to you?" Angel asked as Spike slowly sat up from his spot on the floor.

"I blew up the demons in your basement," Spike replied, pulling himself onto the settee. "You're welcome."

"Did you blow yourself up in the process?"

"Yes," Faith answered.

"Idiot."

"Oh, shut up," Spike moaned, slapping away Andrew's attempts to help him. "You're leaking, by the way."

"Angel, please just sit down," Buffy said, reaching her hand out to him.

"Get the hell away from me!" Angel shouted, turning on her suddenly.

Almost everyone in the room jumped and Buffy visibly flinched. "Angel? What's wrong? We came to help you."

"I didn't _need_ your help!"

Buffy's face flushed in anger. "Wesley was already dead and the rest of you were about to get slaughtered in an alley!" she yelled. "You definitely needed our help!"

"I didn't ask for it!"

"You didn't have to!"

"But you wouldn't come when I did ask," Angel said at a lower volume but with equal ferocity. "What did you think I was doing here, Buffy?"

Buffy rubbed her face with her palms before throwing her arms in the air as she said, "You were the CEO of Hell, Incorporated. What was I supposed to think?"

"That maybe there's more than one way to save the world, and that it's not always as righteous as what you would do."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Don't you dare," she warned.

"What? You think that just because I love you more than anything that I'm just going to forgive you because you showed up at the last minute with the cavalry?" Angel shouted, his voice becoming increasingly strained. "You made me into what I am. You made me want to do something good with this soul. You know me and you wouldn't even give me the benefit of the doubt. So don't you dare get mad at me now."

"Angel, sit down," Faith said, walking up behind him with a cup in her hand. "Drink this."

Angel took the cup and seethed, "Just get the hell out of my city, Buffy."

The slayer was so busy glaring at him, she didn't notice Spike slowly moving toward her.

"Get out, Buffy," Spike said, barely above a whisper.

All traces of anger were gone from her face and utter shock replaced them. "What?"

Spike's face scrunched up in frustration before he said, "You have no idea how much it pains me to say this, but Angel's right."

The eyebrows of everyone in earshot, including Angel, shot up at Spike's statement. Xander and Willow shared similar looks of open-mouthed confusion.

"I can't believe this," Buffy said, wiping away tears and laughing mirthlessly.

"What did you expect? You send little Andrew here to do your dirty work and tell us you've disowned us and then you show up when it's convenient for you?"

"Convenient?" she replied, her voice screeching.

"It hurts, Buffy," he said, his voice raising for the first time in the conversation. "It hurts seeing you walk around here after everything that's happened. I don't know about him, but I'm bloody well in enough pain already. So just go."

"Fine, fine," Buffy relented, throwing her arms in the air. "Girls, pack up your stuff. We're leaving."

"Uh-uh, no," Faith interrupted forcefully as she grabbed Buffy's arm to stop her. "They said they wanted _you_ to leave, not us."

Willow's nails dug into Xander's arm as she said, "Oh, this is worse."

Buffy's gaze narrowed angrily. "I am the one that brought everyone here," she said, venom boiling just beneath the surface.

"Oh, sure, it's all about you, B," Faith said, no veil covering her sarcasm. She took a step back and loudly said, "Willow gave us a good head start last night, but the bad guys are gonna still be coming after Angel in force. And we fight bad guys. Its basically our whole job description. Anyone who wants to stay and fight in this town like Angel has for five years, should stay."

A pregnant silence fell before Rona shrugged and said, "I'm in L.A. anyway."

"Yeah, we can stay too," Vi added.

Murmured affirmations sounded around the room. Buffy glared daggers as Faith simply smirked.

"I guess they know a _good_ guy when they see one," Faith taunted.

Everyone froze in utter terror as Buffy's had connected with Faith's cheek. Angel struggled to stand but Faith held out a hand to stop him.

"It's okay, Angel," she assured him, stepping away from the other woman. "Just go, Buffy. Make life easier on everyone."

* * *

"Damn," Kennedy concluded. "I guess I understand why no one wanted to talk about it. Sounds like it was pretty intense."

"Oh, it was," Xander confirmed. "I still have scars on my arm from Will's fingernails."

"You do not," Willow told him, rolling her eyes. "I think it all kinda got blown out of proportion because emotions were running so high and everyone was so tired, and, as it turned out, Angel wasn't just nearly cut in half. He was nearly cut in half by a poisoned blade."

"And you know that because you stayed an extra week?" Kennedy asked.

Willow nodded. "He might have died if I hadn't been there to identify the poison."

"But you didn't come back right away either," Kennedy said, looking Xander. "What were _you_ doing?"

"I was laying flowers on Cordelia's grave," Xander replied solemnly.

"Cordelia was the mean girl that joined up with Angel, right?"

"She was also Xander's girlfriend, sweetie," Willow said, patting Kennedy's knee.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Xander told her, smiling slightly. "We hadn't really talked in a long time and she'd been gone for a few months, but I figured I wouldn't be back in California for a long time, so I went to say goodbye. It was actually really easy to find because Wesley had drawn a map to her gravestone in his little journal."

"Yeah, what about that journal? Dig up any juicy secrets?" Kennedy asked excitedly.

Willow pursed her lips and said, "Yes, but there aren't any I can actually share with you."

"What? Why not?"

"Give it up, Ken. I've tried," Xander told her. "Will can be a vault when she wants to be…or at least she can now. You definitely didn't want to tell her a secret when we were seven."

Willow shook her head as she got up to pour herself another cup of coffee. "They're just not my secrets to tell. They're Angel's. But, I will tell I found out why and how Angel took over Wolfram and Hart, and…I think his reasons were valid."

"That's all we get? His reasons were valid?"

"Well, when we hunt Angel down and beat him with wet noodles for being such an idiot, you can hold him down and ask him to tell you about it himself," Willow told her girlfriend as Amy, one of the younger slayers, tapped her on the shoulder.

"There's a call for you from a Father William Langley in Rome."

"Who?"

"Father William Langley," Amy repeated.

"Are you cheating on me with a priest?" Kennedy teased as Xander sniggered.

"Oh, ha-ha," Willow replied flatly as she took the receiver from Amy. "Hello?"

"Hey, Red," and English-accented voice replied.

Willow's eyes became the size of saucers. "Spike? Why the hell did you say you were a priest?"

"Because I'm in my office and sound carries quite easily in here."

"You-you have an office? Where?"

"In the Vatican."

"You have an office in the Vatican?"

"What is going on?" Xander mouthed, but Willow waved him off.

"Look, Red," Spiked continued, "I didn't call to talk about my latest employment. I called to ask you a question."

"Uh, about what?"

"What sort of powers does a slayer's blood have, magick-wise?"

"Well, it's the cure for certain poisons, and it has certain regenerative properties," Willow replied. "Could you be little more specific?"

"Could it be used to raise someone or something from the dead?"

Willow's face twisted from an expression of confusion to one of worry. "Spike, why are you asking?"

"You know about Faith, right?"

"Only for a couple of hours."

"Damn, I'm sorry. I've known for a couple of days. I thought you all already knew," Spike replied. "But, my point is, Faith was taken by the Gorvan'Chak, and their sole purpose is to resurrect their master since Illyria killed him thousands of years ago. Could they use Faith's blood to do it?"

Willow groped for a chair and her knees buckled as she sat. Xander and Kennedy exchanged worried looks.

"I-I don't know off the top of my head. I'd have to do some research," she said hesitantly. "Do you think they've killed her?"

"Well, Angel's gonna find out tonight. Don't worry about it, though. I've sent him some backup."

"Please don't tell me you prayed for actual angels to come down and help him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Spike quickly replied. "And, Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Buffy and the Super Friends to get back to Rome," he said soberly. "Whatever's about to happen; it's about to happen here."

Willow heard a click and then a dial tone. She stared at the receiver as she turned it off.

"Willow," Xander began slowly, "why is Spike calling himself _Father_ William Langley."

"Never really got the answer to that one," she confessed, still staring at the phone.

"Then what's got you so upset, babe?"

"Spike thinks Faith was kidnapped so her blood could be used to resurrect one of the Old Ones. One of the Old Ones that Illyria killed…" Willow explained, her voice trailing off as it lightened with the brightness of an idea.

"That does not sound good," Xander concluded.

Willow stood up and firmly said, "Go tell Buffy we need move this entire operation and as many slayers as possible to Rome. And that we need to do it now."

Kennedy nodded and jumped up from the table toward the library.

"And what are you doing?" Xander asked, looking at her quizzically as she dialed the phone.

"Something Buffy's really not going to like," Willow replied, moving toward the kitchen. "I'm calling for help."

* * *

In L.A…

Kate had fallen asleep in front of the television and Gunn fell asleep with an open file in his lap. Illyria stared without expression at the continuing reports of destruction and pain. Topher spent his time looking from the ancient book on his desk to his computer screen. Oz, apparently having no where else to go in the veritable war zone that was L.A., sat cross-legged on the settee, playing lightly on his guitar.

Steph padded lightly down the stairs attracting no one's attention but her brother's. His face quickly changed from acknowledgment to confusion to anger.

"What did you do?" he demanded, taking off his glasses and moving toward his sister.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You have Guilty face."

"I do not have a guilty face."

"You do too! It started in utero when you tried to strangle me with my own umbilical cord."

Kate and Gunn both woke up groggy and irritated.

"You're insane!"

"If I am it's because I've been _your_ brother for the last twenty years!"

"Oh, God, what are you two arguing about now?" Gunn demanded, wheeling toward them.

"She's done something."

"I haven't done anything!"

A short silence fell on them before Topher's eyes widened in realization. "You called them, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steph protested.

"Stephanie, did you call the Slayers?" Gunn asked a little too calmly.

"No," she replied shakily.

Oz didn't even know the girl and he knew she was lying. The four coworkers burst into shouts assigning blame and expressing anger. Illyria continued watching the television and Oz moved back toward the desks for his own protection.

The phone started ringing, but none of Angel's employees seemed to hear it. Since he was fairly close, Oz picked up the phone and said, "Hello."

When the silence on the other end lasted a little too long, he repeated, "Hello."

"Oz?"

He likely felt as awkward at the person on the other end of the line looked. "Willow?" he asked.

"Um, did I-did I dial a wrong number?" she asked. "I was trying to call Angel's office."

"You did," he told her. "I was coming to see Angel and stuff exploded, so I'm still here."

"Oh. Okay…I kind of need to talk to Gunn."

"They're sort of yelling at each other right now."

"Um…whistle. You can whistle," she reminded him.

Oz lowered the phone, stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, and blew. He suddenly had everyone's attention, even Illyria's.

"Willow's on the phone for Gunn."

"What?"

"Willow Rosenberg would like to talk to you," Oz said, holding the phone out to Gunn.

He glanced back at Steph briefly before wheeling over to take the phone from Oz. "Willow?" he asked uncertainly.

"Hey, Gunn. How ya doin'?" she asked in an uncomfortable brightness.

"Uh, my city's on fire, other than that I'm good. Why are you calling?"

"We need help," she said genuinely. "This whole thing with the churches, and the Gorvan'Chak, and En'Shon, and Faith is spiraling out of control, and you guys are ahead us, and you have Illyria," she rambled.

"You want us to ship her to you in a box?" Gunn asked.

"Is he talking about me?" Steph whispered.

"I certainly hope so. Ow!" Topher screeched as his sister smacked the back of his head.

"No, no," Willow replied. "It's just that Gorvan is probably about to be resurrected and Illyria was the last being to defeat him and…I have what is probably going to turn out to be a really bad idea."

Gunn thought about it for a moment before he smirked and nodded. "I think I got what your sayin' but they've grounded all flights out of LAX."

"Do you still have that jet Spike stole from Wolfram and Hart?" Willow said, excitement rising in her voice.

"Yeah, but we don't have anyone to fly it."

"Oh, I'll call my friend Duncan Donovan. He owes me a favor. He'll meet you at the jet in a couple of hours. Where is it?"

"Stafford Airfield in Pasadena."

"Hey, if we're going to fly somewhere, you should consider the fact that they've closed the air space over Southern California," Kate pointed out.

"I can keep the F-16s from shooting us down," Topher said with a raised hand.

"Okay, we'll meet your friend in two hours," Gunn said into the phone.

"Oh, do you think you could call Angel's son? He could be really helpful in this situation," Willow suggested emphatically.

"He's already in Rome."

"Oh, that's convenient."

"You know Angel's gonna kill me for this."

"Buffy's gonna kill me, too, but at least they'll be killing us together," Willow replied. "Oh, and, Gunn, bring Wesley's books."

The line disconnected leaving Gunn to shake his head. "Stephanie, Kate, start packing clothes and weapons. Topher, pack up the books."

"Where are we going?" Kate asked.

"We're going to Rome."

"Angel's gonna kill us," Topher moaned.

"But we'll all die together. Get moving."

Kate herded Steph back up the stairs as Topher pulled boxes out of the storage closet.

"Question," Topher began, "how are we going to move all of us to Pasadena, much less these books?"

"I have a van," Oz said. "It's parked around the corner."

"You wanna come with us?" Gunn asked.

"I don't have any other plans."

"Welcome to the team."

* * *

Dawn often obsessed about what outfits to wear out on dates. She'd never spent time obsessing about what underwear to wear. What made it worse was that she couldn't call anyone for an opinion. Not only would they be too busy worrying about the world's impending doom, they would all certainly yell at her for considering having sex with someone _they_ had never met. After trying on every matching set of underwear she owned, she decided on a satiny, dark pink set. She slipped a plum sundress over it and pulled on a pair of strappy sandals. She then opened the window to make sure it was actually still warm outside before grabbing a small bag and racing down the building's stairs.

Connor was waiting on the sidewalk. Dawn thought he looked especially good with his dark wash jeans and black, snap-front shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows. He looked remarkably carefree and happy.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling.

She took his hand and nodded as she said, "Yeah, I'm ready."


	10. We're Real, We're Here

A/N: Okay, this took forever to write b/c I kind of got into Hawaii 5-0, but mostly it took forever because it's got that required oh-my-god-I-know-who-you-are-now scene. There's also a lot of Angel and Faith in this chapter. Enjoy! And thanks for all the reviews and alerts!

* * *

Angel unsnapped the harness around his shoulders and let it fall to the ground with the rest of his parachute. He then opened his pack and buckled his favorite broadsword across his torso. He quickly crouched down in the long grass when he heard the noise of footsteps in the nearby trees.

"Are you Angel?" an accented male voice whispered loudly.

"Who's asking?"

A young man carrying a fisherman's knife and a hunting rifle emerged from the trees and cautiously knelt down in front of Angel. "Are you here to fight the man on the hill?" he asked.

"I'm here to rescue Faith."

The young man smiled. "Then you are here to fight the man on the hill. I am Enzo Mallani. Father Cassini has a plan. Come with me."

"Father—what—who?" Angel asked before grabbing his coat and second sword.

Twenty minutes later, he was crouched at the foot of the steep, narrow, stone steps to En'Shon's mansion. Enzo—who was apparently head of the local fisherman's guild—and Father Cassini's plan reeked of rushed insanity. It was, however, better than Angel's plan which was to run really fast and try not to get dusted.

The lights went off in the mansion and around the village. A confused murmur from the guards at the door and Angel took off up the steps. The guards were made up of assorted, lesser demons. He didn't even have to unsheath either of his swords, he simply used the one in his hand like a club and knocked the demons out or shoved them off the side of the steps. He ducked when the door opened and reinforcements poured out. Shots rang out from beneath them and the demon's scattered. Angel hadn't asked where the fishermen got the guns and he frankly didn't want to know.

In the confusion, Angel ran through the doorway and kicked the heavy door shut as he grabbed a dwarf-like gray demon. The demon squealed as Angel picked him up by the throat and said, "Where's Faith?"

"What?"

"The Slayer your boss had kidnapped. Where is she?"

"Basement. Please don't kill me."

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," Angel promised. "You're taking me to her. Now, go!"

Few enemies crossed their path as the tiny gray being led Angel through the corridors of the mansion. When one of the Gorvan'Chak appeared, Angel just grabbed the little squirt and hid in a corner. He was going to need all the stamina he had to get Faith out of the mansion.

The gray dwarf led him to a small room barely larger than a closet. Faith was in the center hooked up to various modern medical devices that were slowly draining the blood from her body. To Angel's horror, Faith was conscious.

"You know how to get this stuff out of her?"

The gray demon hastily nodded.

"Do it!" Angel ordered as he went to Faith's side. "Hey. Hey, Faith, you with me?"

Her eyes became focused as she clutched his arm. "Angel?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"Yeah," he said, smiling comfortingly. "Connor called me."

"Ah!" Faith screamed as the gray imp pulled a tube out of her lower abdomen. "God, I love that kid almost as much as I hate that gray bastard there."

Angel quickly taped gauze over the wounds on her arms and stomach and said, "Can you walk?"

"I don't know. I don't think so," she replied, her voice breaking.

"Well, you're gonna have to," Angel told her as he hit the gray demon in the head, knocking him out. "Let's go."

Angel held onto Faith with his free arm and led her cautiously into the hall. They'd only made it a few feet before five Gorvan'Chak rounded a corner. Angel remembered what Connor said about beheading and slashed at them as quickly as possible. They were reduced to puddles of goo in mere moments while Faith huddled near the wall, reduced to tears.

"Come on!" Angel yelled, grabbing Faith's hand and pulling her along behind him.

He pulled her into a small room and checked through a crack in the door. Faith shook violently as she rested against a small table. Angel went to the sobbing woman and grabbed her shoulders to make her face him. "Faith, listen to me. We're gonna make it out of here, but I need your help," he told her, holding up the weapon in his hand. "You need to take this sword and help me fight our way out of here."

"I can't. I can't do it," she cried.

"Stop it, Faith!" he yelled, shaking her shoulders.

"No, no, it's over. It's all over," she sobbed.

Angel was stunned. He'd seen Faith break before. He'd seen her beg him to kill her. Yes, he'd seen her break; he'd never seen her broken.

"No, you listen to me, Faith Anne Lehane," he hissed, shaking her as hard as he could without breaking her. "You are better than this. You are stronger than this. You nearly lost your soul and you fought your way back from the brink to keep it. If you can fight your way out of that, you can fight your way out of here. Now, take this sword, and _help_ _me_."

Faith flinched and her breath caught in her throat. She wrapped her fingers slowly around the hilt of the sword and took it from his hand.

"You good?" Angel asked, letting go of her and backing away slightly.

"Yeah, I got it," she said quietly. "Let's kick some ass."

Angel nodded as they both bolted for the door, swords raised. They cut a swath through the mansion. They rushed through the mahogany halls at break-neck speed, slashing as fast as they could. One of the Gorvan'Chak shoved Faith against the wall, but she still managed to slash it in half before she fell to the floor.

"Come on, Faith, we're almost out," Angel said, hoisting her to her feet.

They were nearly to the back door when an attractive older man wearing black robes shimmered into existence in front of them. Faith released a guttural scream and buried her face in Angel's chest as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Move, En'Shon, or I swear to God I'll kill you."

"A vampire swearing to God…what a novel concept," En'Shon said brightly. "And you can't kill me because I'm not actually here. I am one hundred feet beneath this house resurrecting my master with that whore's blood."

Faith's head shot up and she advanced on the visage until Angel pulled her back.

"You chose the wrong side, Angelus."

"My name is Angel," he said as he grabbed Faith's hand and pulled her through the illusion and out the door. Shots still rang out as they sprinted downhill toward the water. A throng of demons chased behind, the bullets only slowing them down. Faith lost her footing and fell face-first into the grass. Angel turned and scooped the woman into his arms. He ran through the ranks of armed fishermen and onto the wooden dock leading to a seaplane. He lifted Faith through the hatch as the ground shook. The demons shrieked and retreated back toward the house. The fishermen looked at one another in confusion.

"Do not follow them!" the elderly priest ordered as he approached Angel. "Your coat."

"Thank you, Father Cassini," Angel said as he pulled on his coat and Enzo approached carrying a sword.

"The Slayer dropped this," he said.

"You need to get off this island," Angel told them, strapping the extra sword on over his coat.

"You think the man on the hill will seek retribution?"

"No, I think this island is about to be Gorvan's first victim," Angel replied quickly. "Get everyone you can into your boats and get them out of here."

The two men nodded a grave understanding as Angel climbed into the plane and shut the hatch.

* * *

Rome's streets were full of throngs of young partygoers. It vaguely reminded Dawn of The Bronze during Sunnydale's final days, though on a much, much larger scale. She and Connor had had dinner and went to one club where he refused to dance on the grounds she would run the other way if she ever saw him dance. They decided a walk into the balmy evening was a good compromise.

"Looks like there are more people out than usual," she commented.

"Well, it's the end of the world as they know it and they feel fine."

Dawn smiled brightly as she chuckled. "It's always good to loosen up before an apocalypse."

"You know this because you've seen so many apocalypses?" he teased.

"Oh, yeah, dozens," she joked back. It was only a slight exaggeration. "Do you know where we are?"

Connor looked around and suddenly realized they'd ambled out of the center of typical Roman nightlife and into the center of demon-friendly nightlife. Several beings in the area were bound to recognize him.

He tightened his hold on her hand and said, "Maybe we should get out of here."

"And go where?" Dawn asked, turning to face him.

"My place," he suggested, shrugging and trying not to sound too hopeful.

She smiled and laced her fingers through his. "That sounds like an amazing idea," she said, standing on her toes to kiss him. Before her lips met his, however, she saw a pair of intense blue eyes staring at her above a set of sharp cheekbones. "Spike?"

"What?" Connor asked as she ran toward the steps leading right toward Caritas.

"Hey, Spike!"

"Dawn, wait!" he yelled, running after her down the steps.

She stopped short when she stepped into the club and realized it was filled with demons. She felt Connor next to her and glanced over to find him looking more worried and shocked.

"Well, this is weird," Dawn said, looking around uncomfortably.

"Yeah, totally," he replied flatly.

She looked up at him and said, "Why aren't you freaking out?"

"Why aren't _you_ freaking out?"

"Uh, well…"

"Angel Face! Didn't expect to see you back here," Lorne said, approaching them with drink in hand. "You gave the Immortal enough trouble, I heard he's considering leaving town."

"Yeah, I really doubt that had anything to do with me," Connor mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and looking away.

"You know Dave?" Dawn asked, looking up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Um, yeah," Connor replied uncertainly. "How do _you_ know him?"

"Oh, you must be Dawn."

"Who is this guy?"

"Lorne."

"That reminds me, where, exactly, did you hear my name?"

"It was in a story I heard once."

"What story?"

"What is this place?"

"Well, Shirley Temple, this is Caritas," Lorne quickly replied.

"That means mercy, right?"

"Depends on how you translate it," Connor muttered.

"How did you know about this place?" Dawn asked, turning to look directly at Connor.

"I'd like to know the answer to that myself, _and_ how you know my name."

Connor jerked his head toward the green, horned demon and said, "Your name is Krevlorneswath of the Deathwalk Clan and I know this because you got in a car with my father, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and Charles Gunn and you went back to Pylea to rescue Cordelia Chase, and consequently found Winifred Burkle, or Fred, who you all grew to love more than almost anyone."

Lorne blinked and said, "You're surprisingly well-informed."

"Wesley? Cordelia?" Dawn asked. "Who's your father?"

"Who's Spike?"

"That's not an answer."

"Is he a vampire?"

Dawn hesitated to answer, but she took in her surroundings and decided it didn't really matter anymore. "Yes, he's a vampire. And he's kind of, sort of my sister's ex. Why? Do you know him?"

Connor remembered fighting Marcus Hamilton at Wolfram and Hart. He remembered being tossed into the elevator doors like a tennis ball. It had hurt, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating feeling settling into his lungs at that moment. He felt like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. He wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream. He knew he wanted to do all three, but apparently he'd decided on maniacal laughter.

"That's just great. It all makes perfect sense now," he said as Dawn and Lorne looked on with confused and worried faces. "You know, it would be funny if it weren't so fucking sad!"

Dawn jumped as Connor screamed the last part of his sentence. Activity in the bar halted for only a moment before they all went back to their singing and listening. She tried putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he just jerked his arm away from her. "Connor, what's wrong? I'm just really confused right now."

"Your sister is Buffy," he stated, finally looking her in the eye.

"Yes," Dawn answered meekly.

"Okay, I'm confused," Lorne said, shaking his head. "I don't remember you….why don't I remember you?"

Connor wasn't really paying attention anymore. He was focused on the small being with rust colored hands and covered with odd markings. He could see the being's lips moving beneath the hood of his brown cowl.

"Lorne, what would it take to bring down the protective spells on Caritas?"

"Well, any number of things, but mostly powerful sorcerers…Why?"

"You mean like that guy?"

Lorne looked behind him and immediately his shoulders slumped. "Dammit. I just had this place redecorated."

"What's going—" Dawn didn't get to finish the question before a light flashed and the air split. A black, scaly being appeared. It had a blocky body on frog-like legs and an egg-shaped head with sets of eyes in front and back. It let out a ghastly roar before tossing patrons around the bar at random.

Connor pulled Dawn and Lorne behind the bar as wood and glass flew overhead.

"What the hell is that thing?"

Dawn craned her neck up to look just above the top of the bar. Connor pulled her down just as a chair flew over them and connected with the back wall. Lorne moaned and rubbed his head between his horns in frustration.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out what the hell that thing is!" she screamed back at him angrily. "It's a Rak'Nar beast, in case you're interested."

"How would you know?"

"My sister's the Slayer! I picked up a few things!"

"Then what's a Rak'Nar beast?" he shouted over the din.

"A beast summoned from the Rak'Nar dimension, what do you think it is?" Lorne asked, exasperated.

Connor glanced at Dawn who said, "They're vicious and they're not easy to kill. You have to smash those gem thingys in the back of their heads."

"That doesn't sound too hard," Connor said, crouching on the balls of his feet.

Dawn shook her head emphatically. "Those back eyes are hard as diamonds. A vampire isn't even strong enough to break them!"

Connor broke a section of the metal railing off from beneath the bar and said, "That's not really an issue. I'm gonna go around behind. Create a distraction."

"Were you not listening? It has eyes in the back of its head!"

"Then I'll just have to be fast!" he retorted vehemently.

Dawn watched with a mixture of shock and horror as he crawled around the end of the bar. She grabbed the green man and said, "We need to create a distraction!"

"Are you insane?"

"Apparently, he's insaner!" Dawn shouted back over the din.

She and Lorne grabbed every bottle they could find and crouched behind the bar. "You ready?" she asked him.

"No, sugar lips, but it doesn't look like we have much of a choice."

They stood simultaneously and started tossing bottles at the Rak'Nar beast. It turned and advanced on them, but almost more quickly than Dawn could see, Connor leapt over a table and smashed the eyes in the back of the Rak'Nar's head. It exploded into a cloud of thick, black dust before Connor's feet hit the concrete.

"You didn't mention the dust, sweet cheeks," Lorne said, waving away the black cloud.

"I forgot," Dawn replied, coughing.

Connor turned to find the robed figure attempting to scurry away. "No, no, no, you don't," he said, grabbing the smaller being's throat. "Who sent you?"

The rust figure started muttering words Connor didn't entirely recognize. He tightened his grip on the being's throat and lifted him a couple of feet off the ground.

"Oh my God," Dawn breathed before covering her mouth with her hands.

"Stop trying to hex me and tell me who sent you?" Connor said angrily to the figure he was holding above his head.

It laughed with the little air Connor was allowing him and said, "No refuge. Not even for you, Son of Angelus."

Connor flicked his wrist and the being's neck snapped. He dropped the lifeless body on the ground and tossed the pipe in his other hand on top of it. "No refuge for you either."

"Son of Angelus?"

Connor slowly turned to face her. "He doesn't use that name."

"I spent four years with Angel. Why don't I remember you?" Lorne asked.

Connor laughed mirthlessly as he rubbed his hands against his forehead. "You know what? Why don't you ask Spike; the vampire she followed down here. I can't do this right now. I just can't."

He ran up the stairs with Dawn's wide eyes following him. Heat flooded her veins before she muttered, "Oh, no, you don't," and ran up the stairs after him.

She emerged into a chilled and nearly empty street. Connor was only a few yards away, manically running his hands through his hair.

"Connor, wait!" she called after him.

"Dawn, don't," he said, attempting to ward her off with an outstretched arm.

"I am _not_ my sister!" she yelled at him, batting away his arm and placing a hand on each side of his face. "Just tell me the truth."

"You wouldn't like it," he replied, barely above a whisper.

She smiled and said, "I'm not Tom Cruise. I can handle it."

Connor moved away from her and sat down on a stone ledge. "It's a long, complicated story."

"Most things are," Dawn replied, sitting down next to him. "Just…that guy, Lorne…he knew Angel, but he didn't remember you. I know Buffy and Angel aren't the greatest communicators, but somebody had to have known."

"They couldn't. He changed everything."

"Angel couldn't—"

"Wolfram and Hart could," he cut her off, running his hands through his hair.

Connor buried his face in his hands and Dawn stared through the silence. "Wolfram and Hart was the Big Bad in L.A. Angel was always fighting them. Why would he go to them for help?"

"Because I was crazy," Connor answered, looking up and finally meeting her eyes. "Because I was born four and a half years ago in an alley in the rain. Angel tried to give me a normal life, but he was a vampire with a soul that spent nearly two hundred years pissing people off. I was taken to a demon dimension and raised by a man that hated Angel."

He laughed mirthlessly before he continued. "I hated him, my own father. I tried to kill him time and time again. You know what he did? He forgave me each and every time. And then I slept with Cordelia."

Dawn's eyes widened and she unconsciously backed away.

"Told you you wouldn't like it," he told her, his voice heavy with emotion. "I don't even think I really loved her. I don't think I was capable then. We had a baby, except it wasn't a baby; it was a beast trying to destroy the world. We'd just been used and-and I saw what I'd done and that I couldn't do anything good and nothing that came from me could be good and I was going to kill Cordy and myself," he said, tears streaming down his face. "So Angel made a deal with Wolfram and Hart: he'd be their CEO if they altered reality and gave me a normal life."

Silence fell between them as Dawn considered everything he'd just told her and everything else he'd ever said. A slight smile crept across her lips as she said, "You never lied to me. Not really."

Connor wiped the tears from his face and shook his head. "I never wanted to lie to you," he told her. "Angel and Spike said she had a sister. They never said your name. If I had known—"

"What?" Dawn asked, suddenly angry. "You would have stayed away from me?"

"Of course I would have!" he replied hotly, standing from his seat and looking down on her. "It's too much."

"You don't get it!" she yelled back, standing up as well. "I felt connected to you from the moment I laid eyes on you and it's not because our parental figures were in love once. You see, reality was altered for me too."

Some of the tension flowed out of Connor's body as he asked, "What?"

"I was a key to bring down the barriers between dimensions. I was just a ball of light. And then a hell-god named Glory came looking for me six years ago and the monks that had looked after me made me human and sent me to the Slayer in the form of a little sister, so she would protect me with her life," Dawn explained, taking his hands into hers. "And she did give her life to protect me."

At Connor's look of confusion, Dawn smiled and said, "It didn't last."

He laced his fingers through hers and quietly said, "We're the same."

"Yes, we are," she whispered. "We're real and we're good because that's what we choose right now. By the way, I don't give a rat's ass what my sister is gonna think."

Connor laughed lightly before he pressed his lips to hers. A balmy breeze drove away the chill in the air and then a warm rain began pouring down upon them.

"Come with me?" Connor asked hopefully as he took her hand.

"Always."

* * *

Weather patterns were changing abruptly. Twice they'd flown through heavy turbulence, and the plane wasn't even flying that high. Angel couldn't sense the sunrise either. It might not ever come up again. Faith had been in and out the whole time. She'd lost an enormous amount of blood. Had she not been a Slayer, she would have just another cold corpse on Lispoli.

She stirred as they came out of a short bout of turbulence. She smiled dreamily and said, "Hey, Angel, come here. I gotta secret."

Angel smiled indulgently and crossed the plane to sit next to her on the compartment floor. She crooked her finger and motioned for him to come closer. He leaned his head down and she whispered, "Your kid has a thing for Buffy's little sis."

She giggled at her secret and Angel shook his head dubiously. "You haven't got enough blood going to your brain."

"That's never slowed me down before," she replied. "And I'm serious. They made out in the park. She gave him cookies."

Angel tried to figure out why Faith would make up such a random story as they hit another rough patch of air. Faith suddenly cried out in pain and clutched at her lower abdomen. Her eyes widened as she saw blood trickling down her leg. Angel's face scrunched up in confusion. There was something different in the scent of this blood.

"Oh my God! Did they kill my baby?" Faith asked, panic seeping into her voice.

Angel's eyes widened this time. He yelled for the pilot to have an ambulance waiting when they landed. He wrapped his arms around Faith to keep her from dissolving into utter shock and quietly murmured into her ear, "You're strong, Faith. Your baby is at least as strong as you. You're gonna make it. You're both gonna make it."


End file.
